§ 

1  The  Melodv  of  Life  I 


%^ 

Lyd  ia  Avery  Coonley  Ward 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


f, 


MELODY  OF  LIFE 


THE   MELODY   OF 
LIFE 


BY 
LYDIA  AVERY  COONLEY  WARD 


The    lines   are   fallen   unto    me   in   pleasant 
places;  yea,  I  have  a  goodly  heritage. 

PSALMS 


NEW  YORK 

JAMES  T.  WHITE  &  CO. 
1921 


Copyrighted  1921  by 
JAMEST.  WHITE  6-  CO 


PS 


TO 
THE  MEMORY 

OF 
JOHN  C.  COONLEY 


G 
t 


WN 


PREFACE 


>RS.  Coonley  Ward's  ample  and  beautiful  house 
on  the  Lake  Shore  in  Chicago  was  for  many 
years  a  center  where  people  interested  in  social  ques 
tions  came  for  discussion,  meeting  those  who  were 
dedicated  to  the  service  of  the  Arts.  From  the  very 
first  opening  of  its  hospitable  doors,  when  the  guests 
were  the  masons  and  the  carpenters  who  had  built 
the  house  and  the  other  workmen  who>  had  decor 
ated  its  walls  and  installed  its  organ,  its  atmosphere 
was  one  of  complete  democracy,  as  if  the  hostess  re 
fused  to  divide  life  into  compartments,  and  was  more 
over  heeding  that  old  injunction  of  Thomas  a  Kempis : 
"Inquire  not  who  spoke  this  or  that  but  attend  to  what 
is  spoken." 

The  dispenser  of  this  constant  and  inclusive  hos 
pitality  not  only  gave  a  public  hearing  to  the  enthu 
siastic  promoter  of  a  new  social  experiment  or  to  the 
struggling  artist  who  had  not  yet  found  his  oppor 
tunity,  but  many  times  supplemented  her  sympathetic 
understanding  with  financial  backing.  This  was  al 
ways  given  with  a  sense  on  the  part  of  the  beneficiary 
that  the  donor  shared  his  vision  and  enthusiasm,  and 
the  artist  came  into  a  larger  expression  and  into  a 
freer  environment  without  any  modification  of  his 
point  of  view  or  lowering  of  his  standard. 


Mrs.  Coonley  Ward  not  only  "learned  from  life," 
to  use  Dante's  fine  phrase,  but  constantly  moved  for 
ward  into  a  fuller  and  freer  world.  Her  poems  record 
her  experiences  in  this  -unending  journey  where  she 
retained  a  spontaneity  and  tenderness  of  the  heart, 
a  certain  elasticity,  and  a  spirit  of  adventure,  which  is 
too  often  confined  to  youth.  She  makes  us  grateful 
once  more  as  to  one  who  penetrates  "Our  earthly  dull 
ness  with  the  beam  of  stars." 

JANE  ADD  AM  s 

Hull-House,  Chicago 


CONTENTS 

HEREDITY    i 

ASPIRATION     2 

MY  NEIGHBOR   3 

JOY     4 

APPRECIATION    5 

TODAY     6 

THE  VISION  7 

WAIT    8 

WORK  9 

LOOK  UP   ro 

HOSPITALITY    1 1 

MAHOMET'S  CHOICE  12 

UNFORFEITED      13 

THOUGHTS   14 

ALONE   15 

FEAR  NOT  16 

RESPONSIBILITY  17 

REPOSE  18 

FORGET  19 

TRUTH  AND  ERROR  20 

RICHES 21 

ANGER  AND  WORRY  .  22 


BEHIND  THE  DEED  23 

RESIST  THE  DEVIL  24 

PEACE  :?5 

As  A  MAN  THINKETH  26 

HERITAGE 27 

INDEX     28 

BY  THESE  TOKENS  29 

THE  REAL  KING  3o 

JANUARY     31 

FEBRUARY     3.2 

MARCH     34 

APRIL   35 

MAY 36 

JUNE  37 

JULY  38 

AUGUST   39 

SEPTEMBER   41 

OCTOBER    42 

NOVEMBER  43 

DECEMBER   44 

DAWN    46 

O  BEAUTIFUL  DAY 47 

SPRING  48 

MY  WISH   50 

APPLE  BLOSSOMS  51 

SPRING'S  LARGESS    52 

ROSE  SECRETS 54 

MY  CRAB  APPLE  TREE   56 

HEARTSEASE   57 

PROPHECY   53 

GORSE  59 

PARTING   SUMMER    60 

ORIOLE   61 

ASTER  AND  GOLDENROD   .  62 


AUTUMN   63 

THE  BROOK  64 

THE  SPRING  65 

TRANSITION    66 

THE  FOREST  SAMSON   67 

INDIAN  SUMMER  68 

RENASCENCE    69 

THE  PRAIRIE   70 

BLUE  AND  GOLD 71 

THE  BOOM  OF  THE  LAKE  72 

CREMATION   73 

To  A  MALACHITE  GEODE 74 

NOSTALGIA    75 

THE  TEAR  JAR 76 

THE  SUNFLOWER  HEDGE  78 

FIRELIGHT     79 

LONELINESS     So 

ETERNAL  YOUTH   81 

FOUNDLINGS     8.2 

SONG  OF  THE  SHIP 83 

To  AN  ANCIENT  GLASS  VASE  84 

ROSEDALE'S  OLD  FLOOR   86 

THE  LADY  BARBARA  88 

LORD  ROSLYN   90 

SHAKESPEARE     91 

SHAKESPEARE'S  APRIL   94 

LINCOLN'S  WISH    95 

GUARDED     96 

"SAVOIR  TOUT  CEST  PARDONNER  TOUT"   97 

CRINAN  CANAL 98 

WlNDERMERE     99 

THE  ROOFS  OF  ANTWERP  100 

ECHO  MOUNTAIN    102 

SAINT  CLOUD  103 


CORONADO  IO4 

GIVE  THE  BEST  105 

THE  NEW  YEAR  106 

EASTER   '  108 

EASTER  LILY    no 

THANKSGIVING  SONG  in 

THANKSGIVING  DAY  112 

LOVE'S  EVERGREEN   113 

POSSESSION  114 

PRAYER    115 

HYMNS 116 

CHURCH  BELLS    1 18 

To  CORREGGIO'S  MADONNA   IIQ 

NINETIETH  PSALM  120 

TRUE  RELIGION 122 

SONG  OF  LABOR  123 

ACHIEVEMENT  124 

SONG  OF  WORK  125 

BROTHERHOOD  126 

LABOR  SONG  127 

MESSAGE  OF  THE  FLAG  128 

AFTER  SENECA  131 

QUARTRAINS  139 

PROVERBS   143 


THE  MELODY  OF  LIFE 


My  little   book,   your   lines  were   born 

In  rifts  of   busy  times; 
No  travail  pains  of  solitude 

Brought  forth  these  simple  rhymes. 
They  have  no  plan,  no  moral  hid, 

No  prize  for  one  who  delves; 
They  came  from  out  a  happy  heart 

And  seemed  to  sing  themselves. 


HEREDITY 

WHY  bowest  thou,   O  soul  of  mine, 

Crushed  by  ancestral   sin? 
Thou  hast  a  noble  heritage 

That    bids    thee    victory    win. 

The  tainted  past  may  bring  forth  flowers 

As  blossomed  Aaron's  rod ; 
No  legacy  of  sin  annuls 

Heredity    from   God. 


ASPIRATION 

ASK  not  for  life  of  ease,  but  ask 

From   strength   to   strength  to  grow; 
Pray  not  to  measure  out  your  task 

By  powers  the  past  may  show; 
But  ask  for  powers  to  meet  demands, 

For  love  that  knows  no  strife, — 
For  crystal  vision,  tireless  hands, — 

A  better  self  for  life. 


MY   NEIGHBOR 

TELL  me  the  good  of  my  neighbor, 

Make  me  his  lover; 
What  there  is  evil,  unaided 

I   shall   discover. 
Better  might  I  to  his   failings 

Know  only  blindness, 
For  they  may  surely  be  hidden 

Under   his   kindness. 
Then  over  errors  and  weakness 

Draw  me  a  cover; 
Tell  me  the  good  of  my  neighbor, 

Make   me  his   lover. 


JOY 

SWEET  Joy  on  earth  is  seeking 

To  find  a  happy  home ; 
He  cares  not  if  to  palace 

Or  cottage  he   shall   come. 
He  looks  in  heart  of  peasant, 

He  looks  in  heart  of  king; 
To  those  who  joy  are  giving 

Sweet  Joy   himself  will  bring, 
And  by  their  hearts'  warm  firesides 

Will  sit  and  smile  and  sing. 


APPRECIATION 

DID  you  think  the  story  splendid? 

Did  you  laugh  or  did  you  weep? 
Ere  the  writer's  life  is  ended 

And  his    restless    heart   asleep, 
Give  him  your  appreciation — 

Written  line  or  spoken  word — 
It    may   bring  new  inspiration, 

A   new   courage   may   be   stirred. 

Did  you  think  the  picture  glowing 
With   the    spirit    genius    gives? 

Tell  the  artist  he  is  showing 
That  his  cherished  vision  lives. 

It  may  be  his  thoughts  are  turning 
To  despair  from  hope  deferred ; 

Just  your  voice  may  meet  his  yearning- 
Courage  spring  from  just  your  word. 

Not  to   every  one  is  given 

Message  of  the  brush  or  pen; 
But   the  artist  who   has  striven 

Draws  new  strength  from  fellow  men. 
Cast  not  pearls  of  praise  too  lightly, 

Nor   repress  them;   for — who  knows  ?- 
They  may  turn,  though  even  slightly, 

All  the  world  from  gray  to  rose. 


TODAY 

WHY  fear  tomorrow,  timid  heart? 

Why  tread  the  future's  way? 
We  only  need  to  do  our  part 

Today,  dear  child,  today. 

The  past  is  written.    Close  the  book 

On  pages  sad  and  gay; 
Within  the  future  do  not  look, 

But  live  today — today! 

'Tis  this  one  hour  that  God  has  given; 

His  now  we  must  obey; 
And  it  will  make  our  earth  his  heaven 
To    live   today — today. 


THE  VISION 

SHE  walked  along  a  stony  way; 
Up-hill  her  path  the  long,  long  day; 
By  sharp  thorns   were  her  garments  torn; 
And  yet  she  smiled  from  night  to  morn. 

She  did  not  know  the  hill  was  long; 
Her  bleeding  feet  stepped  true  and  strong; 
Her  hand  unshrinking  clasped  each  thorn, 
And  called  it  rose,  of  heaven  born. 

Because — because  there    went  before 
A   dream   that   brightened   evermore. 
She  saw  the  vision  of  the  light, 
She   felt   no  pain,   she  knew   no  night. 


WAIT 

ALL  Nature  waits  the  appointed  hour, 
The  seed  to   start,   the   bud  to   flower; 
But   man,    impatient,   hurries    on 
To  lose  the  cause  that  might  be  won. 

Calm  wisdom  ever  counsels,  Wait! 
Time  solves  the  problem  of  the   State; 
When   seed  of  righteous  cause  is  sown, 
Trust  time  to  show  its  flower  full-blown. 


WORK 

I  AM  enamored  of  work! 

It  calls  to  me  in  my  dreams; 

It  wakens  me  out  of  sleep 

Saying:   "Nothing  is  as  it  seems 

Except   work — work  that  has   blessing   for  you, 

The  work  that  you  only  can  do. 

Arise,  O  you  dreamer,  arise ! 

Be   glad  of  your  good   right  hand, 

Be  glad  that  your  body  is  strong, 

For  the  work  that  is  calling  is  good, 

It   is   work   that   the   great   world   needs. 

Your  own  work  is  calling  to  you." 

I  laugh  as  I  hasten  to  rise, — 

Who  am  I  that  I  dare  to  shirk! 

I  am  called  by  a  voice  from  the  skies 

Singing,    "Child    of    the    ages — work!" 


LOOK  UP 

WHY   should'st    thou   misfortune    fear, 

O  soul  of  mine, 
When  it  may  never  venture  near, 

Or  shape  define? 
The  body  faints  beneath  a  load 

It  need  not  bear; 
Look  up !     The  stars   shine  on  life's  road, 

Stoop  not  to  fear. 


10 


HOSPITALITY 

IT  is  not  hospitality 

That    bids    our    friends    to    revelry. 

Its  high  ideal  we  rather  find 

In  open  portals  of  the  mind, 

And  corners  to  opinions  free 

With  which  our- own  do  not  agree. 

He  who  his   invitation  sends 

To   enemies,   will   find  them   friends; 

And  differing,  will  still  discern 

That  each  from  each  has  much  to  learn. 

Then    swing   the   portals    of    the   mind, 
See  quickly  good,  to  ill  be  blind; 
All  other  welcomes  are  as  naught 
To  hospitality   of    thought, 
And   the  sweet  privilege  is   not  lost 
Of  being  guests   with  God  for  host. 


II 


MAHOMET'S   CHOICE 

"!F  I  had  but  two  loaves  of  bread," 

Mahomet    said, 

"I  would  sell  one  that  I  might  buy 
Sweet  hyacinths   to  satisfy 

My  hungry  soul." 

Great  Oriental !  Prophet  wise ! 

You  taught  each  one  of  us  who  fain 

By  body's  dole 

Would   feed  the   soul, 

That  it   is   gain 
When   hyacinths   he   buys, 
E'en    though    he    sacrifice 

His  loaf  of  bread. 


13 


UNFORFEITED 

IT  might   have   been !    It    might   have   been ! 

The  keynote  of   sharp  sorrow! 
Yet  is  the  present  hour  my  own, 

And  it  may  claim  tomorrow. 
Whate'er  I  might  have  been,  I  yet 

May  be,   for  God  is  willing. 
The  past  and  future  break  their  chains 

When  Now  with  hope  is  thrilling. 


THOUGHTS 

OUR  thoughts  are  angels  following  those  we  love ; 
Sometimes  'neath  shadowy  clouds  they  slowly  move, 
Burdened  with  care,  with  anxious  fear  weighed  down, 
They  carry  fetters  rather  than  a  crown. 
Again  they  soar  the  mountain  heights  above 
On  happy  wings  of  joy  and  peace  and  love. 
Laden  with  hope  they  lift  the  weight   of  care 
And  courage  takes  the  place  of  dull  despair. 

Ah!  dear  ones  all,  forgive  me  when  I  send 
A  thought  to  you  that  is  not  born  a  friend! 


ALONE 

I    SIT    upon    a    mountain, 

No   human    soul   is   near; 
The  forests  are  beside  me, 

They  are  companions  dear ; 
The   gray   stones   give  me  greeting, 

Each  white  cloud  smiling  sends 
Glad  message  for  our  meeting, — 

I  am  with  friends. 

I  walk  the  thronging  city, 

And  countless  moving  hordes 
Of   people   press   against    me; 

I  hear  their  very  words, 
I   look  upon  their   faces, 

My  heart  can  only  moan, — 
In  all  these  crowded  places 

I   am   alone. 


FEAR  NOT 

FEAR  not  because  you  do  not  see 
The  right  victorious  and  free ; 
Its  foes  will  surely  turn  and  flee, 
Their  hosts  will  count  minority ; 
For  God  and  one  must  ever  be 
A   conquering   majority. 


16 


RESPONSIBILITY 

EACH  man  is  judge  at  his  own  bar 

Receiving    sentence    there, 
Each  man  is  his  own  ancestor 

And  each  his  own  first  heir. 

God  sends  all  good  and   says — Hold  fast! 

To  himself  give  I  man, 
His  heritage  is  his  own  past, 

His  future  his  own  plan. 


REPOSE 

WHEN  you  lie  down  at  night  to  sleep 
Take  off  the  garments  worn  by  day, 
And  do  not  force  your  soul  to  keep 
Her  thought-robes  on.     Lay  all  away. 
Then   shall  your  rest  untroubled  be, 
As  the  repose  of  infancy. 


FORGET 

WITH  curling  lip  and  flashing  eye, 
With  heart  that  quicker  beat 

She   said   an    angry    word — but    why, 
Oh,  why,  that  word  repeat? 

What  myriad  words  we   all  may  say, 
And  wish  we  had  been  dumb 

Before   the  angry   tides   allowed 
Those   passion-signs   to    come ! 

Not  yours  or  mine  the  stoic's  calm, 
The  smile,  the  well-ruled  tongue, 

That  leaves  no  room  for  deep  remorse, 
Or  tears  by  heart-ache  wrung. 

Ah,  happy  we  with  loving  friend 

To  listen  and  forget, 
Who  would  not  breathe  again  the  words 

That  our  own  hearts  regret. 


TRUTH  AND  ERROR 

TRUTH  and  error  side  by  side 
In  one  mind  cannot  abide. 
When  truth  enters  error  goes, 
Pain,  disease,  and  all  life's  woes. 
Strong  and  joyous  is  the  soul 
Under  harmony's  control. 
And  today,  serene  and  wise, 
We  may  make  earth  Paradise. 


20 


RICHES 

ROB  me  of  my  flocks  and  gold, 

Stranger,  if  you  will; 
Rob  me  of  my  jewels  old, 
Pictures   rare   and  books  untold, 

Field  and   stream  and  hill; 

Take  all  these,  if  you  but  leave 

Courage  of   the  soul, 
Faith  and  hope  that  wrongs   retrieve, 
Joy   and   love  that   love   receive; 
Rich  in  these  I  shall  not  grieve 

For  the  wealth  you  stole. 


21 


ANGER  AND  WORRY 

ANGER  and  worry  are  two  fiends 
Resolved  to  poison  and  annoy; 

They  undermine  the  springs  of  health, 
And  dry  the  fountain-head  of  joy. 

Life   is  a  burden  when  they   rule — 
But  let  brave  head  and  heart  unite 

To  hurl   these   despots   from  their  throne 
And  set  thereon  the  powers  of  right, 

And  straightway  evil  tides  are  turned; 

We  are  God's  own — He  takes  control ; 
The  fiends  are  banished — right  prevails 

And  health  and  joy  rule  in  the  soul. 


22 


BEHIND  THE  DEED 

"WHY  should  I  work?    Why  should  I  strive? 

The  world  is  wrong,"  you  say  and  sigh; 
"My  drop  of   good  is  swept  away 

By  tides  of  evil  rising  high!" 

Ah,  no !     The  beat  of  every  heart 
That  throbs  for  right  is  felt  afar ; 

Each    kindly  deed,   each   joyful   gift, 
Speeds  hope  and  courage  like  a  star. 

The    spirit    stands    behind    the  deed, 
In  holy  thought  the  dream  must  start; 

And  every  cause  that  moves  the  world 
Was  born   within   a   single  heart. 


RESIST  THE  DEVIL 

RESIST  the  devil,  he  will  flee; 

He  hides  within  thy  breast; 
What  is  he  but  the  ill-used  force 

That  will  not  let  thee  rest? 

He  tortures,  he  afflicts,  he  goads, 

His  scepter  is  a  sting; 
He  sits  enthroned  till  thou  resist, 

Then  flees — and  thou  art  king. 


PEACE 

MY  heart  was  once  a  weary  thing, 
My  heart  was  worn  and  sad, 

And  now  it  can  but  laugh  and  sing 
For  it  is  ever  glad. 

Life's   problems    still  confront   the   soul, 
Life's  trials  still  make  plaint; 

Yet  my  heart  sees  a  shining  goal 
And  never  more  can  faint. 

The  world  obeys  a  heavenly  plan, — i 
Tis  God  who  rules — not  sin; 

I  see  the  angel  in  the  man 
And  all  is  peace  within. 


AS  A   MAN   THINKETH 

"As  a  man  thinketh,  so  is  he." 
Right  thought  builds  true  and  strong; 

Let  passion  rule,  and  he  is  torn 
By  forces  turned  to  wrong. 

For  evil  poisons.     Malice-shafts 

Like  boomerangs  return, 
Inflicting   wounds   that   will   not   heal 

While   rage  and  anger  burn. 

But  good  may  ever  conquer  ill, 
Health  walk  where  pain  has  trod; 

"As  a  man  thinketh,  so  is  he." 
Rise  then,  and  think  with  God ! 


26 


HERITAGE 

THOUGH  we  may  kneel  whene'er  we  pray, 

We  are  not  aliens  at  bay. 

We  are  not  strangers  kept  afar 

By  frowning  face  and  heavy  bar. 

We  are  not  worms  from  out  the  dust 

Unworthy  of  a  father's  trust. 

No!  we  are  God's  own  children  dear, 

We  love  Him   and   we   do   not   fear. 

He  is  a  king,  and  princes  we, 

Inheritors   of    royalty. 

His    wealth    for  us    He    freely    spends, 

To  us  His  heavenly  crown  descends. 

Our  birthright  we  have  but  to  claim 

For  He  has  sealed  it  with  our  name. 


INDEX 

THE  face  is  index  of  the  soul, 

Thoughts  set  a  record  there; 
Man  fain  would  blot  the  evil  out 

By  mask  he  tries  to  wear. 
But  all  in  vain !  Though  he  may  lie, 

With  Nature's  every  breath 
The  truth  is  told.    The  face  reveals 

The  soul  in  life  and  death. 


28 


BY  THESE  TOKENS 

I  SAW  her  in  a  tenement, 
With  her  surroundings  well  content; 
Her  matted  hair,  her  ragged  dress 
Told  their  own  tale  of  idleness. 

Yet  shabby  gown  and  tangled  hair 
She   must  perforce   as   symbols  wear, 
Because  they  signify  control 
By  rags  and  tatters   of   the  soul. 


THE  REAL  KING 

IT  is  not  the  ruler  who  sits  on  a  throne, 
And  calls  lordly  acres  and  palace  his  own, 

Who  really  is  king  of  the  land  and  the  sea, 
And  worthy  of  praises  from  you  and  from  me. 

Tis  he  who  can  give  all  the  love  that  they  ask 
To  dear  ones,  yet  bravely  encounter  his  task; 

Can  smile  on  his  neighbor  with  message  of  cheer 
And  carry  a  light  heart  howe'er  dark  the  year. 

'Tis  he  of  gay  voice  and  he  of  strong  hand 
Who  truly  is  king  of  the  sea  and  the  land, 

He  reigns  over  hearts  that  in  homage  bow  down 
And  yield  love  and  praises  this  hero  to  crown. 


JANUARY 

THE  light  of  Spring  is  on  the  hills, 
The  breath  of  Spring  is  in  the  air; 

With  golden  sap  the  willow  fills — 
And  yet  Spring  will  not  hither  fare, 
While    yet   'tis   January. 

Full  well  I  know  bleak  winds  will  sweep 
The  hills  when  Winter's  king  commands; 

And  snow  will  yet  lie  white  and  deep 
Where  now  in  shallow  drifts  it  stands — 
For  this   is   January. 

And  yet,  and  yet  I  hear  a  voice 
Fragrant  with  promise  of  the  May — 

The  voice  of  Spring,  and  I  rejoice, 
And    sing  this   little   roundelay — 
Though  this  is   January. 


FEBRUARY 

PAN'S  pipes  are  laid  in  roots  and  twigs, 
And    through   the  vines   are  bent; 

Spring  comes  with  eager  lips  to  press 
The  wondrous   instrument. 

To  hear  this  heavenly  symphony, 
Rise,  Soul,  from  depths  of  woe ! 

Speak,    Seer,   and   make   me   wise   as    flowers 
Who    well    their    birthdays   know ! 

Tell   me   how  Pan  makes   sun,  wind,   clouds 

Obedient  to  his  power ! 
Tell  me  why  green  fills  every  leaf 

And  color  every   flower! 

O  wise  man!   break  a  stem,   and   show 

The  marvelous   liquid  green ! — 
A  violet's  heart,  that  I  may  watch 

Its  purple-flowing   stream! 

Show  me  the  pink-filled  fountain  where 

Arbutus  goes  to  drink ! 
Show  me  the  snows  that  come  to  pale 

The  lily  on  its  brink ! 

Then,  O  thou  wisest   man!   distill, 

If  thou  hast  secret  power — 
That  I  may  learn  the  magic  art — 

The  perfume  of  the  flower ! 


And  tell  me  why  the  violet's  breath 

The  lily  never  knows ! 
And  why  the  lily's  never   dwells 

Within   the  glowing  rose ! 

Yet,  Sage,  speak  not!  These  secrets,  hid 

In  flower,  in  leaf,  in  sod, 
Half-fathomed   by   our  human  hope, 

Must  still  be  left  with  God. 


33 


MARCH 

THE    shortest   days,   the   darkest   days,   are  past; 

The  dawn  comes  early  to  the  eastern  skies; 
The  morning's  brightness  floods  the  world  at  last; 

Joy  welcomes  the  new  day  with  glad  surprise; 
And  Nature  sings,  with  sky  and  lake  in  tune— 
"On,  on  to  June !" 

O  heart,  for  thee  the  darkness  lies  behind; 

The  golden  sunshine  warms  thy  life  anew; 
Joy  with  each  new  day's  dawning  thou  dost  find 

Gilding  gray  skies  and  rippling  in  the  blue. 
Thou  too  dost  sing,  with  sky  and  lake  in  tune — 
"On,   on   to  June!" 


APRIL 

1  LEANED  from  my  window  one  morning 

I  heard   a  low  laugh   in  the  air ; 
The  birds  gave  a  soft  note  of  warning — 

A   moment,   and  she   will  be  there ! 
Oh,    who    is  this    charmer    retreating, 

As   if  our  desire   she  eludes? 
Her  raindrops,  our  plans  all  defeating. 

Are  pattering  down  in  the  woods. 
I  watch  her — the  beautiful  maiden ! 

The  sun  brings  her  wandering  smile ; 
The  breeze  with  her  whisper  is  laden, 

The    willows    her    favor   beguile. 
Her  veil  of  gray  mist  on  the  mountains, 

Her  scarf  of  pale  green  o'er  the  trees ; 
She  breaks   all  the  chains  of  the   fountains, 

They  rush   down   to  seek  the  far   seas. 
Her  jewels  she  brings   from  a  palace 

Well  guarded  by  knights  of  the  sun; 
She  weeps,  and  they  offer  a  chalice 

Where  colors  from  teardrops  are  spun; 
She  smiles,   and  their  arrows  quick  darting 

Through  woof  of  that  fabric  of  dreams, 
The  arch  of  the  rainbow  is  starting, — 

Her  smiles  and  her  tears  are  its  beams. 
I   lean    from   my  window   at   evening, 

I  hear  a  low  murmur  afar ; 
And  is  Earth  her  jewels  receiving, 

Or  is   it  the  gleam   of  a  star? 
O    April !    capricious    yet   tender, 

The  bridesmaid  of  Winter  and  Spring, 
The   Summer  her  homage  may  render, 

But  yours  is  the  gift  of  the  ring. 


35 


MAY 

I  HEAR  her  swift  feet  coming 
By  ways  the  south  wind  clears; 
I  hear  her  low  voice  humming 
The  music  of  the  spheres; 
I  feel  her  warm  heart  beating 
On  Nature's  eager  breast, 
While   snow  and  ice  retreating 
Comply  with  her  behest. 

With  gift  of  gold  the  willows 
Lift  high  their  welcoming  hands; 
By  sunshine  led,  the  billows 
Kneel   low  upon  the  sands; 
She   comes,    her   power   confessing, 
The  wind  and  sun  obey, 
And   earth  receives  her  blessing — 
The  heart  of  Spring — sweet  May. 


36 


JUNE 

HARK  !   a  new   comer ! 

Lo,  it  is  Summer ! 
Pan  sets  his  pipes  to  her  tune; 

Down  by  the  river 

Reeds  are  a-quiver, 
Waiting — all  waiting  for  June. 

No  longer  hidden, 

Wild  flowers   are  bidden 
Censers  to  swing  'neath  the  moon; 

Night  is  resplendent, 

Stars  are  attendant, 
Waiting — all  waiting  for  June. 

Summer  insisting, 

Calls  to  her  trysting 
Forests  with  green's  royal  boon ; 

Breezes  compelling, 

Bird  carols  swelling, 
Waiting — all  waiting  for  June. 

Soft  airs  perfuming, 

Roses  are  blooming 
Red  in  the  sunshine  of  noon ; 

Snowy  in  whiteness, 

Golden  in  brightness, 
Waiting — all  waiting  for  June. 

White   clouds  low  sailing 

Watch  her  unveiling, 
River  and  sea  sing  her  rune; 

Robed  in  rare  splendor, 

Regal  yet  tender, 
Earth  crowns  the  Summer  with  June. 


37 


JULY 

BLUE  haze  dims  hills  against  the  sky, 
The  pasture  grass  is  brown  and  dry, 
The  sun  shines  hot  on  gray  stone  wall, 
The  corn  leaf's   edges  withered   fall, 
The  brook  is  lost  among  the  stones, 
The  pine  tree  holds  its  dusty  cones, 
The  garden  withers    in   the  heat, 
The  flower  bed  drops  its  blossoms  sweet, 
The   locust  whirrs,  and  dragon  flies 
Shake  out  their  gauzy  draperies ; 
Upon  the  grass  the  spider's  net 
By  drop  of  dew  is  never  wet ; 
The  heat  throbs  with  metallic  sound 
In  stifling  air — on  iron  ground. 
The  cattle  gather  where  the  trees 
Wait   hopeless   for  a   cooling  breeze. 
And    so   the    days   and   nights    go   by 
In  breathless,  sighing,  hot  July. 


AUGUST 


YE  CRYSTAL  days  of  August  that  smile  upon  the  hills, 

And  send  your  sunbeams  seeking  the  perfume  summer 
spills, 

The  blue  skies  are  your  banners,  the  forests  wear 
your  shields ; 

The  army  of  the  harvest  sets  vanguard  in  your  fields. 

Warm  breezes  from  the  tropics  bring  waves  of  throb 
bing  heat, 

The  locust's  scorching  accents  the  breathless  stillness 
greet ; 

The  brook  with  gentle  murmur  the  mossy  stone  en 
folds, 

And  goldenrod  has  burnished  the  scepter  that  he 
holds, 

The  clouds  in  fleecy  whiteness  lift  battlements  that 
rise 

To  build  a  heavenly  city  upon  the   radiant   skies, 

And  high  above,  white  mountains  its  shining  towers 
enclose, 

As  if  the  heart  of   summer  remembers  winter  snows. 

Ye   crystal   nights   of   August,   your   shadows    on   the 

lawn 
Grow  deep  when  herald  twilight  your  mystic  veil  has 

drawn ; 
The    aspen    cymbals    quiver    though    wind-harps    all 

are  still, 

And  no  seolian  whisper  is  heard  upon  the  hill. 
In  breathless  silence  driven  across  the  waiting  sky, 
A   trail   of   fire    for   signal,    the    shooting   star-worlds 

fly; 


39 


And   while   Orion    watches    their    course    of    rushing 

light, 
They  vanish   like  a  vision  that  thrills  the  breast  of 

night. 
The  midnight  hour  approaches  and  all  the  stars  grow 

pale, 

As  rising  to  the  zenith  the  moon  withdraws  her  veil. 
Night    gathers    up    the    jewels    in    star-fields    thickly 

sown, 
And    crowns    her    queen    triumphant    upon    a    silver 

throne. 


SEPTEMBER 

WHILE  summer  days  grew  brown  and  old 
A  wizard  delved  in  mines  of  gold; 
No  idler  he — by  night,  by  day, 
He  smiled  and  sang  and  worked  away; 
And,  scorning  thrift,  with  lavish  hand 
He  cast  his  gold  across  the  land. 

The  maples  caught  it  ere  it  fell; 
Witch-hazel  turned  before  its  spell; 
The  goldenrod's  high  plumes  of  green 
Were  feathered  with  its  yellow  sheen; 
While  barberry  bush  and  bitter-sweet 
Wore  berries  golden  as  the  wheat. 

Still  smiling,  o'er  the  trees  he  wound 
Long  russet  scarfs  with  crimson  bound; 
He  drew  a  veil  of  purple  haze 
O'er  distant  hills   where  cattle  graze; 
He  bathed  the  sun  in   amber  mist, 
And   steeped   the   sky  in  amethyst. 

Low   in  the  East   for  crowning  boon 
He  hung  the  golden  harvest  moon ; 
And  donned  his  coat  of   frosty  white 
As  twilight  deepened  into  night. 
Then  to  the  roll-call  of  the  year 
September  answered,   "I    am  here!" 


OCTOBER 

THE  trees  hold  russet  tankards 
For  Autumn's  sparkling  wine ; 

Ere  purple  grapes  are  broken 
Upon   the   swinging  vine 

The  breezes  bring  for  token 
The   breath   of   spices   fine. 

Afar  upon  the   hillside 
The  sumach's  torches  flame; 

The  green   of   Summer   spurning, 
The  stately  maples  claim 

A  crimson   flag  whose  burning 
Waves   high  a  golden  name. 

The  sword  of  great  Orion 
Guards  well  the  cup  at  night; 

O'er  moon  and  stars  in  splendor 
Aurora  swings   her  light, 

While  Earth  again  doth  tender 
Her  potion  of   delight. 

Oh,  press  it  to  your  lips,  dear, 

October's  glowing  bowl ; 
O'er  perfumed  rim  it  offers, 

With  fire  of  altar's  coal, 
A  draught  whose  rich  depth  proffers 

Elixir    for   the    soul. 


NOVEMBER 

BENEATH    the   hills    like   shepherd   roods 

The  slender  saplings  stand ; 
Above  the  hills  November  broods 

And  lifts  a  warning  hand 
To  velvet  winds  that  soft  caress 

The   forest's   silver   nakedness. 

The  mystic  air  in  shadow   folds 

The  russet  of  the  hills; 
An  opalescent  haze  upholds 

The  cup  that  actumn  fills 
With  essence  of  the  harvest  wine — 

Elixir,  nectar,  anodyne. 

The  firmament  by  night  is   starred 

With  golden  mystery; 
Its  wide  expanse  is  silver-barred 

And  locked  with  hidden  key. 
By  day  the  sky  though  gray  its  hue 

Reflects  the  summer's  depth  of  blue. 

O  month  of  nun  and  acolyte, 
Your   draught  we  fain  must   sip, 

The  while  your  hand  lies  on  your  heart 
Your  finger  on  your  lip; 

For  thus  you  veil  in  smile  and  tear 
The   secret   of   the   passing   year. 


43 


DECEMBER 

DECEMBER,   dearest  month  and  last, 

The  snow   a   mantle  white 
Wraps  all  that  dark  and  evil  is 

Away   from   mortal    sight; 

The  winds  blow  high,  the  winds  blow  low, 
The  strong  waves   rise  and   fall, 

For  they  the  ice-king's  masons  are 
To  build  his  palace  wall. 

They   bring   Carrara   marble    white, 

Blue  lapis  lazuli, 
Translucent  blocks   of  malachite — 

The  shadows  of  the  sea. 

They  call  the  sun  to  set  the  stones 

With  diamond-studded   darts, 
They  bring  a  rainbow   to   o'erarch 

The    amethystine   parts. 

And  so  the  stately  pillars  grow, 

And   so  the  turrrets  rise, 
The    frost    embroiders    through   the    night 

A  veil   of  Paradise ; 

And  only  at  the  break  of  day 

Is   drawn  that  mystic  veil, 
And  only  craft  is  wafted  near 

When  set  with  dreamland  sail. 


44 


Yet  golden  in  the  azure  skies 

A   radiant  star  doth  shine, 
The  prototype  of  herald  star 

That  shed  a  light  divine 

When  brooding  o'er  Judea's  hills 
It  lay  on  night's  fair  breast, 

While    sages  worshipping   kneeled   low, 
And   holy   sign    confessed. 

And  so  December  sets  today, 

As  first  in  ages  far, 
Upon  the  skies  of  Christmas  night, 

Messiah's  herald  star. 


45 


DAWN 

THE  Light  comes  in  at  my  'window 
To   sit  in  the  darkest   place, 
And  the  cool,  soft  hand  of  the  Morning 
Is  laid  on  my  sleeping  face. 

The  Sun  swings  open  the  windows 
Of  his  palace  that  looks  on  the   sea, 
And   his  wonderful  garden  beckons 
To  the  Lady  of  Morn  and  to  me. 

The  flowers  in  the  garden  are  crimson. 
The  trees  with  glory  aflame, 
And  I  am  the  guest  of  honor; 
I  woke  when  I  heard   my  name. 

I  gaze  at  the  marvelous  pageant 
While  all  the  stars  grow  pale; 
I  breathe  with  the  new  creation, 
I  drink  from  the  Holy  Grail. 


O  BEAUTIFUL   DAY 

O  BEAUTIFUL  day  to   live   in ! 

The  hills  in  their  blue  veils  of  haze, 
And   the   sunshine  flooding   the   valleys 

Where  the  cattle  in   quiet  graze. 

O  beautiful  day  to  work  in ! 

The  air  full  of  heavenly  wine, 
And   the   thought   of   the   world   working   with  us 

In   strength    for    the    conquest    divine. 

O  beautiful  day  to  love  in ! 

Earth  an  altar,  with  Nature  the  priest, 
And  the  heart  like  a  Moslem  low  kneeling, 

The  face  of  the  soul  to  the  east. 


47 


SPRING 

WHO  is  this  that  flying  comes 

Over   hill  and  valley? 
Forest   wood-winds,  trumpets,   drums, 

At  her   summons  rally. 

When  her  footsteps  softly  press 

Rustling   leaves   and   grasses, 
Dwellers    in    the    wilderness 

Hail  her  as  she  passes. 

Yesterday  was  bleak  and  cold, 

Frozen  snow  had   drifted; 
Now   the   green    shafts    pierce   the    mold, 

Banners   green   are   lifted. 

Hark!     The  signal!     Birds  appear — 

Bluejays,  martins,  thrushes. 
Listen !  listen !     Do  not  fear ! 

Build  among  the  bushes ! 

Hear  the  music  of  the  spheres 

Through   the    forest   ringing; 
Yesterday  was  drowned  in  tears, 

But  Today  is  singing. 

Sorrow   from   the   earth   is   pruned, 

Time    marks    only   pleasures ; 
Nature's   orchestra   is   tuned 

To  celestial    measures. 


Oh,   the  radiant   skies  of   morn! 

Oh,  the  fountains  flowing! 
Oh,  the  joy  of  earth  new  born! 

Oh,  the  bliss  of  growing  1 

Come,  ye  wood-winds,  trumpets,  drums, 

To  the  woodland  meeting. 
Tis  the  Lady   Spring  who  comes ! 

Give  her  royal  greeting! 


49 


MY  WISH 

I  DO  not  ask  for  dazzling  gems 

Or  mines  of  shining  gold ; 
I  do  not  ask  for  wealth  of  land 

In  lordly  acres  told. 

But  oh,   to  own  an  apple  tree, 

And   on   a  winter   day 
To  see  the  snow  fall  on  its  boughs 

And  hide  their  brown  away. 

In  spring  to  watch  the  swelling  buds 

That  clustering  leave   no  room 
For  boughs  whose  brown  is   hid   again 

By  weight  of  rosy  bloom. 

And  then  to  mark  the  petals  fall 

Until  the  leaves  are  seen 
That  wrap  once  more  the  dark  brown  boughs 

In   summer's   royal   green. 

At   last   in  autumn  when   those  boughs 

With   crimson    fruit   bend   down, 
I   could  not  envy  any  king 

The  glory  of  his  crown. 

For  life  and  love  would  tell  their  tales 

Of  heavenly  joy  to  me, 
If  I  could  only  have  my  wish, 

And   own  an   apple   tree. 


APPLE   BLOSSOMS 

THE  apple  tree  is  white  with  bloom; 
Through  Spring  air   filters    soft  perfume, 
And  shadows  lie  in  drifts  of  pink. 

0  thirsty  soul,  come  here  to  drink! 

Come !    To  your  weary  lips   lift  up 
A  draught  that  brims  in  Memory's  cup; 
Fragrant  with  years  when,  all  abloom, 
This  tree  for  children's  play  made  room. 

It  roofed  with  pink  their  happy  hearts, 
And  through  white  rifts  sent  sunbeam  darts; 
They  had  no  thought  beyond  their  glee, 
When  sporting  'neath  the  apple  tree. 

Alas !  my  steps  have  wandered  far 
From  apple  bloom  and  childhood's   star; 

1  had  well-nigh  forgot  the  day 
Which   canopied   with   flowers   my  play. 

But  years   may  pass  and  bring  regret, 
Sad  thoughts  may  start  the  tears,  and  yet 
My  childhood  heart  returns  to  me, 
When  blossoms  forth   the  apple  tree. 


SPRING'S  LARGESS 

NATURE  never  is  exclusive, 
She  is  guest  at  cot  and  hall 

And  her  springtime  invitations 
Are  extended  to  us  all. 

Piercing  heavy  palace  curtains, 
Attics  high  and  cellars  low, 

Darting  into   dingy  alleys, 
See  her  herald  sunbeams  go. 

Soft  air  calls  the  little  children, 
With  the  day's  enchanted  dawn, 

To  the  dandelion  meadow, 
To    the   crocus-dotted    lawn, — 

Calls  them  to  the  shabby  sidewalk 
Of  the  dark,  unlovely  street, 

Where  in  games  and  songs  and  dances 
Happy  circles  gaily  meet. 

Driving  in  the  park,  my  lady 
Of  Spring's  incense  drinks  her  fill; 

Far  away,   her  tenement  sister 
Feels  the  same    ecstatic  thrill. 

Nature  gives  the   Spring  unstinted; 

Blooming  tree  and  perfumed  air 
Are  for  all,  and  each   receiver 

Knows  himself  a  millionaire. 


There's  no  need  for  miser's  hoarding, 
Or  for  questions, — where  or  which? 

What  we  take   does   not   diminish, 
What  we  leave  does  not  enrich. 

God  and  Nature  give  the  springtime 
Without  touch  of  dark  alloy; 

There's  no  bitter  in  the  sweetness, 
There's  no   sorrow  in   the  joy. 

All  the  bonds  of  love  are  strengthened; 

Humblest  peasant,  haughtiest  king, 
Stand   together    at  her    footstool, 

Sharing  in  the  gift  of  Spring. 


53 


ROSE  SECRETS 


"WHAT  makes  you  pink,  my  pale  pink  rose? 

Red   rose,  what  makes  you  red? 
"The  earth  alone  the  secret  knows," 

The  pink  and  red  rose  said. 

"She  hid  us  safe  within  the  mold 

Where   light  was   never   seen; 
She  kept  our  slender  stems  from  cold 

And  wound  their  living  green. 

"Around  the  bud  for  guardian  sheath 

She  set  a  calyx  bower, 
And  folded  close,  its  spires  beneath, 

The  little  baby  flower. 

"She  sent    for  pink   from   seashell's  beak, 

For   red    from   sunset    sky, 
And   on  the  velvet  of   each    cheek 

She  laid  its  radiant  dye." 

"What  makes  you  fragrant,  crimson  rose? 

Pink  rose,  what  makes  you  sweet?" 
"The  gentle  dew  the  secret  knows, 

We  learned  it  at  his  feet. 


"By  night  he  took  the  fondest  care 

Of  alchemy's   slow  birth 
And   mingled   the   ingredients    rare 

In  vessels  of  the   earth. 


54 


"He  blended   subtle  odors,   till 
They  throbbed  within  the  gloom, 

Impatient  our  fair  flower  to  fill 
With    ravishing   perfume." 

"I  do  not  understand,"  I  said, 

"The   color  or  the  scent" ; 
Smiled  then  the  pink  rose  and  the  red, 

"O  Mortal,  be  content. 

"Though  we  are  scattered  far  and  wide 

By  every  wind  that  blows, 
No   single  petal  e'er  can  hide 

Its  kinship  to  the  rose. 

"The  color's  secret  is  our  ownv 

Hid  with  a  miser's  care ; 
The  odor's  fountain  is  unknown 

Elusive  as  the  air. 

"No  Galahad  his  pure  eyes  turrtt- 
Where  we  blush  red  and  pale; 

And  yet  our  perfumed  chalice  burns — 
The  Rose's  Holy  Grail." 


55 


MY  CRAB  APPLE  TREE 

GREEN  is  the  grass  by  the  roadside, 

Green  is  the  grass  by  the  lake; 
Birches   and   elms   are   still   dreaming 

Of  green  they  will  wear  when  awake. 
But   into   my    face  brightly  smiling, 

When  I  look  from  my  window  I  see, 
Full   leaved  in  the  beauty  of  April, 

My  dear  little  crab  apple   tree. 

The  birds  gladly  visit  her  branches, 

And  twitter   of   nests  that  will   sway 
In  the  shadow  of  leaf-clusters  hidden, 

When  April  gives  welcome  to  May. 
Then  the  eager  buds  push  back  the  leaflets, 

And  the  pink  of  the  June  rose  I  see, 
For  blossoms  are  blushing  in  beauty 

On  my  dear  little  crab  apple  tree. 


HEARTSEASE 

THE  violet  lifts  its  lovely  head 

By  sunbeams   kissed  and  bathed  in  dew; 
The   lily  borrows   sheen   of   snow 

And   golden   stamens   tremble   through. 

The  honeysuckle  blows   afar 

Its  sweets  through  trumpet's  curving  grace; 
The  red  rose  smiles  when  balmy  winds 

Caress  her  petals'  velvet  face. 

Days,  weeks,   and   months  in   silence  wrought 
To  steep  the  perfume,   tint  the  flower, 

And  bring  the  perfect  blossom  here, 
To  consecrate  to  love  its  hour. 

But  there's  a  flower  more  fair  that  needs 
No  nurturing  of  weeks  or  days ; 

Its  perfume's  sweeter  far  than  that 
Of  other  flowers  we  love  to  praise. 

It  never  withers,  never  dies, 

It  blooms  perennial  to   delight; 
It  laughs  at  Time  who  slowly  tills — 

For  heartsease  groweth  in  a  night. 


57 


PROPHECY 

• 

A  BROWN  bird  came  from  the  southern  land: 
"Is  sign  of  the  summer-time  showing?" 

The  meadow  lark's  singing  the  azure  spanned: 
"I  hear  the  anemone  growing." 

"Oh,  listen,"  sang  he,  "to  the  voice  of  the  mold, 
For  life  from  her  bosom  is  starting; 

The  crocus  and  tulip  and  hyacinth  bold 
The  crust  of  the  winter  are  parting." 

The  meadow  lark  carolled  his  herald  song, 
The  prelude  to  wild  bees  humming. 

Farewell  to  the  winter  so  cold,  so  long, 
And  hail  to  the  summer-time  coming! 


GORSE 

THERE  is  an  olden  proverb 
In   the    land  of   yellow  broom; 

'Tis  that  "Kissing's  out  of  fashion 
When  the  gorse  is  out  of  bloom." 

But  the   gorse's   yellow  blossoms 
Never  seal  true  lovers'  doom — 

There's  not  a  month  of   all  the  year 
When  gorse  is  out  of  bloom. 

So  lovers  smile  their  pleasure, 
For  frowns  there  is  no  room, 

And  kissing's  aye  the  fashion, 
For  the  gorse  is  aye  in  bloom, 


59 


PARTING  SUMMER 

SHE  turns  to  look  upon  the  royal  lands 

That  lately  were  her  own; 
There  stalwart  young  October  beckoning  stands, 

Usurper   of   her   throne, 
Like  Midas,   turning  into    shining  gold 
The  vernal  treasures  she  had  left  unrolled. 

He   calls   her:   "Summer,    radiant   Summer,   wait; 

I  long  for  your  embrace." 
She  listens  to  his  pleading;  is  it  Fate, 

Or  splendor  of  his  face 

That  lures  her  o'er  the  meadow?  She  returns, 
Drawn  by  the  golden  fire  that  in  him  burns. 

October  holds  her  in  his  eager  arms ; 

She  lingers  with  delight; 
Her  fragrant  breath  his  frosty  pillow  warms 

Throughout  the  starry  night. 
By  day  her   sun-born  alchemy  she  pours, 
To  woo  the  spices  from  his  golden  stores. 

'Tis  the   apotheosis  of  the  year. 

The  amethystine  air 
Conceals  in  mystery  of  smile  and  tear 

Love-philters  everywhere. 
Divine  October  holds  the  wondrous  spell 
That  will  not  let  the  Summer  say  farewell. 


60 


ORIOLE 

WHILE  summer  was  smiling,  the  valley 

A  subtle  infusion  had  made 
Of   pines,  spruces,    ferns,    fragrant  mosses, 

And  sweet  flowers  distilled  in  the  shade; 
And  then  between  daylight  and  darkness, 

The  hour  when  the  heart  bows  in  prayer, 
The  dews  filtered  all   this  quintessence 

Of  odor  to  perfume  the  air. 

The   fireflies  were   flashing  their   lanterns ; 

A  locust  his   tambourine  whirred; 
A  butterfly  gleamed  in  the  roadway, 

And  never  a  leaflet  was  stirred; 
A  dragon  fly,  dressed  in  her  gauzes, 

Sped  by  with  a  tremulous  hum; 
And  standing  erect  on  a  tree-trunk 

A  woodpecker  beat  his  gray  drum. 

Then  sounded  a  call  from  the  branches, 

Sweet  and  shrill,  from  the  lark's  golden  throat; 
'Twas   answered  by   robin  and  sparrow, 

And  last  came  the  oriole's  note — 
That  rapturous  song  from  the  tree-top. 

The  new  moon  rose  over  the  hill, 
For  the  oriole  sang  to   her  beauty, 

And  the  birds  of  the  forest  were  still. 


61 


ASTER  AND   GOLDENROD 

THE   aster   and   the    goldenrod   they  blossom  side   by 

side, 

The  goldenrod  is  bridegroom,  the  aster  is  the  bride. 
Sun    burnishes    the   bridegroom's   coat,    paints    aster's 

purple  gown, 
And   sets    a    shining  golden    ball   to   flute    her    skirts 

upon. 
The   bridegroom    waves    his   yellow    plume,    the    fair 

bride  curtseys  low ; 
The  soft  wind  breathes  a  wedding  song;   he  learned 

it  long  ago. 


62 


AUTUMN 

THE  fallow  fields  in  their  dark  beauty  lie 

Close  to  the  tender  green 
Of  springing  wheat;  the  Summer  passes  by 

And  smiles  upon  the  scene, — 
Lingering  where  on  the  southern  hillside  steep 
Alert  and  quiet  graze  the  peaceful  sheep. 

She  lights  the  brown  of  every  waiting  field, 

She  lights  the  vivid  green; 
She   makes   the  pallid,   rustling  cornstalks  yield 

A  shaft  of  golden  sheen. 
Red  lights  glow  in  the   forest's  russet  lines, 
And  emerald  drifts  into  the  dark  green  pines. 

No  wandering  breath  of  wind  comes  stealing  through 

The  trees;  none  wakes  the  stream. 
The  soft  sky, — is  it  gray  or  tender  blue 

Whereon  the  white  clouds  dream? 
The  earth,  the  sky,  the  air — they  are  all  filled 
With   Autumn's  mystic  perfume   undistilled. 

O  Love,  my  Love,  come  walk  upon  the  hills ! 

Breathe  the   enchanted   air ! 
In  all  the  largess  lavish  Nature   spills 

Shall  we  alone  not  share? 
Unless  at  her  great  altar  we  may  meet 
The  heavenly  symphony  is  incomplete. 


THE  BROOK 

TIRED,   lonely,    heart-sick,    do   I   come 
To  thee,  dear  Brook,  as  to  a  home. 
Upon  thy  mossy  bank  I  rest 
And  touch    the  ferns  thou  hast  caressed. 
Then  with  a  long  and  weary  sigh 
I  let  my  world  of  care  go  by. 

Thou  blessed  Brook!  I  give  to  thee 
Discouragement  and  misery. 
My  heart  grows  light  and  tears  at  last 
Bring  balm  for  all  my  sorrows  past. 

I   watch  the   slender  grasses   dip 
The  nectar  of  thy  breath  to  sip. 
The  fluted  lichens,  gray  and  dry, 
Hang  over  rocks  imbedded  high; 
The  crimson  sumach's  velvet  pole 
Claims  as  his  own  the  Cardinal's  role. 
And  all  the  while  upon  the  stones 
I  hear  the  rippling  undertones 
That  soothe  my  heart  to  quiet  rest 
As  if  upon  a  Mother's  breast 

And  what  of  thee,  to  whom  I  give 
Such  burdens?  How  dost  thou  receive? 
With  shining  breast  and  purling  voice 
I   hear   thee   whisper:   "I   rejoice, 
And  for  thy  gift  of  sorrow's  part 
I  give  thee  back  a  happy  heart." 


64 


THE  SPRING 

FROM   the  hillside  came  a  spring — 

Lovely,  sparkling,  dancing  thing. 

"I  will   roof  it,"  Nature  said; 

"Oak  and  maple  overhead 

Shall    their   branches   interlace, 

And  the  periwinkle's  grace, 

Carpeting  the  sheltered  place, 

Shall  embroider  its   fair  bed. 

Lichens  gray  and  brown  and    red 

On  the  slope  their  cups  shall  show 

Filled  by  crystal   overflow." 

So  the  roots  of  giant  trees 

Bent  their  gray  and  ancient  knees, 

Worshipping  beside  the  spring 

Where  birds  came  to  sip  and  sing. 

Ferns  combed  out  their  soft  brown  hair, 

Silver  leaflets  waited  there 

Just  to  dip   again  and  glow 

In  the  water's  overflow. 

Then   the  happy,  laughing   spring — 

Lovely,   sparkling,   dancing  thing, 

Calmed  her  ripples  into   rest, 

Made  a  mirror  of  her  breast, 

And  the  ancient  trees  she  wooed 

Till  they    left  their   solitude 

In  the  upper  air,  to  lie, 

Leaves  and  branches — even  sky, 

Nests  of  birds,  each  treasured  thing — 

In  the  mirror  of  the  spring. 

Look !    For   here  today  you   see 

How  they  keep  her  company — 

When  winds  rest  and  birds  all  sing, 

See  the  picture   in  the   spring! 

65 


TRANSITION 

BEFORE  September's  knell  is  rung, 
Above  the  distant  hills  is  swung 
The  twilight's  glory,  lost  too  soon, — 
The  wondrous  golden  harvest  moon. 
Ere  long  her  gold  to  silver  turns; 
High  overhead  her  white  torch  burns ; 
Below,   where    deepest  shadows    lurk, 
Sir  Harlequin  is  at  his  work. 

His  palette   with  the  rainbow  set, 
His  brushes  with  the  night-dews  wet, 
He  paints   the  bushes,  vines,  and  trees 
In  matchless  wizard  harmonies. 
October  finds  the  world  arrayed, 
As  if   for   royal  masquerade. 

From  velvet  pyramid   o'erhead 
The  sumach's  crimson   wings  are   spread ; 
The   woodbine's    graceful    pennants    float 
Above  the  hawthorn's  glossy  coat; 
From  yellow   of   the   mountain  ash 
The   scarlet  berries  gleam    and  flash; 
The  rose-hips  flame,  white  seeds  unfold, 
Beech,  birch,  and  elm  are  touched  to  gold. 

November's  russets  gently  creep, 
To  woo  the  revelers  to  sleep. 
The  outline  of   the   sombre  pines 
Defines   the    forest's    sentinel   lines. 
No  wind  the  mountain  summit  sweeps, 
No  rain  leaf -woven   carpet  steeps; 
The  tranquil  earth  her  heart  beguiles 
With   Indian   Summer's   gentle   smiles. 


66 


THE  FOREST  SAMSON 

LIKE  Samson  shorn,   the  bare  trees  stand, 
Their  branches  dark  against  the  sky; 

Their  strength  forgotten  by  the  band 
Of  thoughtless,  careless   passers-by. 

They  wait  in  silence  till  the  tide 

Of  joyous  life  begins  to  flow, 
And    over    branches    spreading    wide — 

Their  sign  of   strength — th?  green  leaves  grow. 

So  Samson  waited  till  his  hair 

In  all  its  shaven  locks  grew  long, 
And  answered  to  his  silent  prayer : 

"Thou,  Nazarite,  again  art  strong." 

Then  called  he  on  avenging  heaven ; 

Within   the  temple   bowed    his    head 
And  clasped  the  pillars;  walls  were  riven 

And  he  lay  in  the  ruins — dead. 

But  our  great  trees,  with  strength  renewed, 
Build  forest  temples,  and  the  breath 

Of  summer  winds  chants  through  their  aisles 
The  prophet's  song — There  is  no  death! 


INDIAN  SUMMER 

NOVEMBER  with  her  amethyst 

Enchants  the  autumn  air; 
Its  purple  glows  where  mountains  rise, 
With  liquid  blue  it   steeps   the   skies, 

Its  red  the  brooks  ensnare. 

Lured  by  the  glow   there   comes   a   maid, 

Across  the  russet  fields; 
She  throws   a  kiss  to  summer's  grace, 
She  hides  the  winter's  snowy  face, 

The   wind    his    homage   yields. 

"It  is  for  thee,"  November  says, 
'That    I    have    kept   my    tryst, 

Thou,  Indian  Summer  queen,  shalt  wear 

Upon  the  amber  of  thy  hair 
My  royal  amethyst." 

The  maiden  smiles,  but  in  her  eyes 

Are  depths  of  tears  unshed; 
The  purple  jewel  she  may   wear; 
Yet  near  it,  tangled  in  her  hair, 

The  summer's  rose  is  dead. 


68 


RENASCENCE 

THINK  not  the  sun  forever  hides  his  light 

When  golden  day  is  changed  to  blackest  night, 

E'en  though  the  heart  lie  in  the  breast  like  stone 

And  though  dull  eyes  must  weep,  and  dry  lips  moan. 

Be  patient  with  thyself,  poor  heart,  and  wait 

For  Time  to  do  his  work — or  soon  or  late. 

Surely  the  heavy  burdens  of  despair 

Must  lift,  or  else  we  could  not  live  or  bear 

The  agony  of  loneliness,   the  loss 

Of  the  heart's  magnet — anchor  changed   for  cross, 

And   duty  paralyzed  as   if  by   shock 

To  a  foundation  that  seemed  built  on  rock. 

So  has  the  great  volcano's  heart  been  rent, 

Flaming  and  thundering  till  its  power  was  spent ; 

Then  sinking  like  a  child,  exhausted,  weak, 

Who  breathless  can  no   longer   move  or  speak; 

So  lies  the  crater  'neath  the  ashes  gray 

Wherein  its  fiery  heart   has    burned  away. 

A  tender   breath   thrills   in   the  winter   air, 

A   prophecy   of    spring  to   branches   bare. 

Snow  melts,  dust  wraps  the  crater  in  a  veil, 

Rain  brings  the  icy  jewels  of  the  hail, 

Sun  shines,  winds  carry  wealth  of  feathery  seeds, 

A  miracle  is  wrought   that  no  one  heeds. 

Within  the  crater,  like  a  haze  is  seen 

The  tender  beauty  of  the   living  green ; 

Grass  grows  apace,  plants  rise  and  flowers  bloom, 

The  ashy  crater  is  no  more  a  tomb ; 

It  is  a   cradle  hallowed  by  the  birth 

Of  life  that  brings  new  beauty  to  the  earth. 

So  do  Time's  gentle  ministries  impart 

New  life  unto  the   ashes   of  the  heart. 


THE  PRAIRIE 

ALL  day  we  rode  by  high  mountains 

By   rivers   that   lingered  and   curved, 
And    night   came   and    lighted   her   star-lamps 

While  still  to  the  westward  we  swerved. 
But  in  the  gray  light  of  the  morning, 

I  looked   from  my  window  to  see 
That  mountain  and  river  had     vanished 

And  the  prairies  stretched  boundless   and   free. 

Oh,  the  heart  is  not  chained  to  a  mountain, 

Or  moored  to  a  river's  fair  breast; 
Wherever  its  dear  ones  are  gathered 

Is  the  home  of   its  joy  and   its  rest. 
Farewell  to  you,  mountains  and  rivers, 

I  love  all  your  grandeur  to  see, 
But  the  vision  of  home  is  the  sweetest, 

The  prairie !   the  prairie  for  me ! 


70 


BLUE  AND  GOLD 

THE    scarlet   sun   in   the  golden   west, 
The  silver  moon  in  the  azure  east, 
And  the  space  between  over  which  I  fly, 
Suffused  with  the  colors   of  the  sky. 

0  wondrous  world  that  glows  and  pales 
To  feast  our  souls  on  the  intervales ! 

1  look  at  the  east  through  the  lovely  screen 
That  Springtime  weaves  of  her  leafy  green, 
And  the  great  round  silver  moon  hangs   low 
Over  hills   that  were  lately  hid  in  snow, 
But  now  are  as  blue  as  the  sky  that  holds 
This  silver  moon  in  its  azure  folds. 

I  turn  to  look  at  the  golden  west, 
At  the  scarlet  sun  with  its  orange  crest, 
At  the  earth — a  vision  in  green  and  gray, 
Wreathed  in  pink  flowers  for  the  Lady  May. 
Then  my  heart   forgets  the  pain  of  years, 
And  welcomes  new  joy  with  happy  tears. 

O  world  of  beauty  by  heaven  blest, 

With  your  moon  in  the  east  and  your  sun  in  the  west! 


THE  BOOM  OF  THE   LAKE 

SOME  long  for  the  mountains   and  some  for  the  sea, 
Some  sigh  for  the  prairies  and  wilderness  free, 
Some  dream  of  the  northland  and  breath  of  its  pines, 
Some  pray  for  the  southland  with  fruit-laden  vines ; 
But  never  a  voice  to  my  heart  doth  call 
Like  the  boom  of  the  lake  on  the  gray  sea  wall. 

Sometimes  'tis  a  mirror  with  clouds  on  its  breast, 
The  sun  silvers  over  their  cradle  of  rest, 
The  south  wind  breathes   softly  the  quiet  to  keep, 
And  evening  weaves  gently  her  mantle  of  sleep; 
Then,  standing  alone,  solemn,  stately,  and  tall, 
A   fortress-like   guard   is   the  gray  sea   wall. 

But  hark!  from  the  north  comes  a  furious  blast, 
The  east  wind  to  meet  it  is  hurrying  past, 
The  waves  leap  forth  madly  the  tempest  to  greet, 
The  storm-king  triumphant  sees  earth  at  his  feet; 
And  far  up  the  north  shore  there  sounds  over  all 
The  boom  of  the  lake  on  the  gray  sea  wall. 

In  lands  far  away  though  my  footsteps  may  roam, 
My  thoughts  swiftly  hasten  to  seek  a  dear  home 
That   memory  brings  in  her  beautiful  dreams 
Where  white  waves  curl  over  the  sun's  golden  beams; 
Then  answers  my  heart  to  a  rapturous  call — 
The  boom  of  the  lake  on  the  gray  sea  wall. 


CREMATION 

WHEN  wide  my  prison  gates  of  life  are  swung, 
What  will  you  do  with  mortal  robe   that  clung 
To  keep  me  here?     Dear  friends,  ah,  do  not  lay 
That  cast-off  garment  in  the  ground,   I  pray; 
But  let  the  throbbing  white  heat  of  the  fire 
Leave  only  ashes  on  its  funeral  pyre. 
Then  say:  "She  longed  to  bring  rare  beauty  here, 
To  make  the  desert  blossom  through  the  year ; 
And  if,  perchance,  her  dreaming  was  denied, 
The  more  through  death  let  her  be  satisfied." 

So,  when  the  fire  is   out,  and  ashes   white 
Are  all  the  mortal  remnant  left  to  sight, 
Then   scatter   them   upon   the   garden    bed 
Where  the  red  rose-tree  lifts  its  lovely  head, 
And  let  it  say,  as  deeper  red  it  glows : 
"She  is  not  dead;    she  lives  within  the  rose." 


73 


TO  A  MALACHITE  GEODE 

FAIR  Malachite,  our  Mother  Earth 
In  silent  darkness  gave  you  birth ; 
Within  your  geode  cradle  locked, 
On    seas    of    vapor    gently    rocked, 
You   slumbered   till   your   velvet    heart 
Of  these  gray  walls  became  a  part. 

But  not   alone,   dear  Malachite, 

You   lived,   shut   out   from   earthly   light; 

To  keep  you  company  there  grew 

A   trio   bright   and    fair   as  you, 

And  darkness  wrapped  them  with  a  sheen 

That  rivals  e'en  your  velvet  green. 

Still   swung  within  your   shadowed  nest, 
The  eons  brought  you — rare  bequest! — 
To  show  that  dreams  of  human  heart 
Cannot  imagine  Nature's  art. 

For  when  your  burnished  cradle  broke, 
And  to  the  light  of  day  you  woke, 
You  stood  in  velvet,  emerald  bright, 
A  miracle  in  Malachite. 


74 


NOSTALGIA 

OH,  lovely  are  the  western  skies,  grand  are  the  west 
ern  hills; 

The    wonder    of    this    Golden    State   my    heart    with 
rapture  fills ; 

The  ocean  beats  against  its  shore,  white  sands  lie  on 
its  beach; 

The   song   of  beauty  evermore,   sea,    sky,   and   moun 
tains  teach. 

And   yet,   and   yet,    why   did    I    roam, 
Who  always,  always  long  for  homel 

I  do  not  see  these  western  skies  or  mountains  rising 

near, 
I   do   not  see   this   Golden   State  or   ocean   stretching 

here; 
My  heart  flies  eastward,  and   I  gaze   on   forest,  vale, 

and  rill, 
The  gentle  slope   of  velvet  fields,   the  heaven-kissing 

hill. 

For  oh !  though  far  away  I  roam, 
My  sweetest  thoughts   are  all  of  home. 


75 


THE   TEAR  JAR 

A   MASTER,   working  once  with  air  and  fire 
Was  overcome  with  sudden,  mad  desire 
To  fix  the  hues   that  haunted  him   in  sleep 
And  prove  that  centuries  his  dream  might  keep. 

He  caught  the  vision  that  entranced  his  heart, 
And  left  the  witness  of  his  wondrous   art 
In  this  rare  vase,  molded  by  his  deft  hand, 
Dipped  into  sky-hues  by  the  sunset  spanned 
And  steeped  with  their  pulsating  living  flame, 
When  into  gold  the  blue  and  scarlet  came 
And  blended  with  the  purple,  violet,   green, 
Till  all   suffused   into  this   matchless  sheen. 

Perchance  a  vivid  rainbow,  earthward  bent, 
Its  moment  of  supremest  color  lent; 
Or  golden  topaz  by  the   sapphire  kissed, 
Blushed  into  ruby,  paled  to  amethyst. 
And  with  the  opal's  swift,  elusive  gleam 
Kindled  this  flaming  substance  of  a  dream. 

All  to  what  end?  To  lie  in  silent  tomb, 
To  hide  this  splendor  in  sepulchral  gloom; 
This  reservoir,  enshrining  tears  and  sighs 
Hopeless  to  meet  the  gaze  of  human  eyes — 
Yet  all  for  love  to  lie  with  moldering  frame ; 
And  all  for  love,  unseen  to  burn  this  flame. 

The  centuries  passed  and  strangers  broke  the  stone 
That  sealed  the  ashes  of  the  dead  unknown. 
Lo !  then  revealed  by  startled  rays  of  light 
This  moon  of  splendor  lit  a  cavern's  night, 


More    eloquent   than    royal    sepulchre 

To  tell  its  tale  of  beauty  o'er  and  o'er; 

And  although  silent,  evermore  to  speak — 

Its  myriad  colors  strong  where  words  are  weak. 

So  speaks  its  silent  voice  in  beauty's  gleam : 

"Men  die,  but  not  the  artist's  glorious  dream." 


77 


THE  SUNFLOWER  HEDGE 

SOMETIMES  in  the  city  I  lose  the  sense 

Of  the  hurry  and  rush  and  the  life  intense; 

The  bricks  and  the  mortar   fade  away, 

And  I  see  as  plainly  as  light  of  day 

The  blue  of   skies   in   the   summer's   hush, 

A  bittersweet  screen  and  a  barberry   bush; 

And  then  all  the  landscape  seems  to  fill 

With  the   sunflower  hedge  at  the  top  of  the  hill. 

Ah,  the  city  shuts  down  upon  life  like  stone; 
In  the  midst  of  its  crowding  the  soul  is  alone; 
The  heart  aches  with  woes  that  it  cannot  reach, 
And  broods  over  lessons  it  cannot  teach. 
Then  memory  wakes,  and  the  city  flies ; 
Joy  greets  the  green  meadows  and  azure  skies, 
And  once  more  the  landscape  seems  to  fill 
With  the  sunflower  hedge  at  the  top  of  the  hill. 


FIRELIGHT 

SHINE  through  the  windows  tonight,   O  fire ! 
Shine  to  guide  homeward  the  feet  that  tire; 
Cheer  thou  the  traveler  on  his  way; 
Gather  the   circle   at  home  today; 
Shine  on  the  wanderer!  Draw  him  near; 
Give  him  a  welcome  for  all  the  year. 

"Come,"  says  the  fire,  "my  flame  shall  light 
Path  through  the  forest  though  it  be  night; 
As  in  my  welcome  I  mount  the  higher, 
Gather   around    the   old   home    fire; 
For  in  my  flaming  a  love  doth  shine 
That  lifts  the  heart  to  the  love  divine." 


79 


LONELINESS 

I   GO  through  the  streets   of  the  city, 

And   sadly  my  heart  makes   its    moan; 
There  is  no  one  to  love  and  to  pity, 

Forever    I    wander    alone. 
i  think  of  the  dear  home  at  twilight, 

The  air  with  sweet  perfume  is  damp, 
And  the   rose  vine  looks  in  at  the  window 

While  Mother  is  lighting  the  lamp. 

Oh,  give  me  my  little  home  cottage 
Where  dear  ones  around  me  I  see ! 

The  loneliest  place  in  the  wide,  wide  world 
Is  the  street  of  the  city  to  me. 

What  thousands  of  faces  pass  by  me — 

The   troubled,   the  sad,   and  the  gay; 
But  none  of  them  ever  seems  nigh  me, 

And  my  sad  heart  is  far,  far  away. 
I  hear  the  faint  lowing  of  cattle, 

I   see  the   church   under  the  hill, 
Alas !  that   I   only  am   dreaming ! 

I'm    alone    in   the   great   city   still. 

Oh,  give  me  my  little  home  cottage 
Where  dear   ones   around   me   I    see ! 

The  loneliest  place  in  the  wide,  wide  world 
Is  the  street  of  the  city  to  me. 


80 


ETERNAL  YOUTH 

WHEN  swift  years   come  and  swift  years  go 
Shall  brow  be  lined  and   form  bent  low? 
Shall  feet  move  slow  o'er  rugged  way, 
Hands  lose  their  skill,  head  droop  in  gray, 
And  heart  grow  weary  while   life's  fire 
In  ashes  burns  like  funeral  pyre? 

No!    the   soul   dauntless   may   arise 
With  quenchless  flame  in  sparkling  eyes ; 
Through  living  channels  may  the  blood 
Flow  in  a  quick  and  steady  flood ; 
The  skilful  hand  and  active  brain 
May   each    day's    round  of   good  attain, 
And  we  from  strength  to  strength  may  grow 
Because  Love's  tide  doth  ceaseless  flow. 
For  at  the  fountain  of  God's  truth 
The   soul   receives   eternal  youth. 


81 


FOUNDLINGS 

O  CHILDREN,  destined  from  your  birth 
To  wear  the  stain  of  others'  sin, 

And  guiltless  pay  the  penalty 

Of  those  who  walk  unbranded,  free, 
Has  Justice  any  part  herein? 

Is   God   abroad   upon   the   earth? 

Poor  children,  who  have  never  known 
A  father's  love,  a  mother's  care, 

What    does  life  offer  in   return  . 

For  those  lost  joys  for  which  we  yearn? 
Say,  must  the  darkness  be  your  share 

Wherein  ye  live  and  die  alone? 

Ah,   not  of   God   your   cruel   brand, 
Man's  laws   relentless   wield   the   rod. 

Tis   thus   that   Christ  was  crucified 

And  sinless  for  the  sinful   died. 
Are  ye  not  too  the  Lambs  of  God 

Who  white  in  His  white  presence  stand? 

Dear  children,  at  God's  judgment  bars 
All  guilt  shall  lie  where  guilt  belongs. 

And   innocent  as  now  in  white, 

And  pure  revealed  by  heavenly  light, 
Yours  then  shall  be  the  triumph  songs, 

And  yours  the  martyr's  crown  of  stars. 


82 


SONG  OF  THE  SHIP 

OH,  the  wind  may  blow 

And  the  ship  may  go 
All  day  in  the  rolling  sea; 

But  when   evening   falls 

And  the  sunset  calls 
Then  at  last  the  ship  is  free. 

She  was  wet  all  day 

With  the  salt  sea  spray, 
And   she   rode   like   a   bird  on   the   wave; 

She  gave  no  care 

To  the  vast  deep  where 
There  is  many  a  lonely  grave. 

The  sunset  showed 

Where  a  ruby  glowed 
And  an  opal  lay  on  the  gray, 

While  a  topaz  gold 

Held  a  sapphire  fold 
In  the  robe  of  the  dying  day. 

Oh,  the  wind  may  blow 

And  the  ship  may  go 
All  day  in  the  rolling  sea ; 

But  when  evening  falls 

And  the  sunset  calls 
Then  at  last  the  ship  is  free. 


TO  AN  ANCIENT  GLASS  VASE 

WONDROUS  glass  of  ruined  Rome, 
Can  you  call  this  new  world  home? 
Was  your  radiance   of   green, 
Dashed  with  blue   and   golden   sheen, 
Caught   from   rainbows  that   arched   o'er 
Classic  lands  in  days  of  yore? 

Hidden  in  a  kingly  tomb, 
Did  you  cherish  in  its  gloom 
Fires  of   color  that   still  burn 
Quenchless  in   funereal  urn, 
Ruby's    red   and   emerald's   green, 
Opal,  beryl,    tourmaline? 
Lost  the  art  that  prisoned  here 
Secrets  of  another  sphere! 

You  were  shaped   for  sorrow's  tears, 
Formed  to  hold   through   endless   years 
Symbols   of  heart's   bitter  pain. 
But  'tis  well  that,  sealed  in  vain, 
You  relinquished  to  the  air 
Signs   of   anguish  and   despair, 
Leaving  beauty  here  and  grace, 
Mute    to   stand   in   numbered  place, 
Yet  in  silence  eloquent 
Of   a  past  with  mystery   blent. 

Shut  behind  these  fast  locked  bars, 
Do  you  miss  the  touch  of  stars 
Shining  bright  from   old-world  skies? 
Shining,  too,   from  old-world  eyes? 


84 


Your  fair  beauty  once  revealed 
That  the  tomb  had  long  concealed, 
Who  with  cold  hdart  could  resist 
What  the  light  with  love  had  kissed? 

Then  no  longer  lonely,  sad, 
Let  our  homage  make  you  glad ! 
Wondrous  glass  of  ancient  Rome, 
Welcome   to  this   new   world  home ! 


ROSEDALE'S  OLD  FLOOR 

You  do  not  like  me  here,  Old  Floor! 

You  creak  and  groan  and  grumble  sore 

However  softly  I  tiptoe 

Above  the  beams  you  cherish  so. 

Perchance  so  long  you've  silent  lain 

That   simply  tired  you   now   complain ; 

Perchance  you  miss  the  ancient  ways 

And  give  these  sighs  for  olden  days. 

You   long  for  satin  petticoats, 

For   ruffled   shirts   and   broidered    coats, 

For   hoops   and  trains   and  powdered   hair, 

For  high-heeled   shoes,  to  trip  your  stair. 

Your  creaks  and  groanings  are  in  vain, 

You  cannot  break  the  plumber's   main, 

Or  stop  the  water,   hot   and   cold, 

Coursing  through   pipes   that  you   must  hold; 

And  though  their  slender  presence  tires, 

You're   wedded  to   electric  wires. 

Old   Floor,   since   old,   why  not  be  wise, 

And  prove  me  false  in  my  surmise 

That  though  you  think  of   olden  daysi 

You  have  not  learned  their  courteous   ways? 

Those  noble  lords  and  ladies  fair 

Were  always  too  polite   to   swear, 

As  you  do  in  your  groans  and  creaks — 

Words  that  the  well-bred  never  speaks. 

Think  of  the  ancient  chivalry! 

Do  not  disgrace  your  ancestry; 

And  howe'er   great   your   discontent, 

Pray  do  not  make  it  evident, 

But  a  respectful  silence  keep 

When  to  your  neighborhood  I  creep; 


For  though  I'm  not  from  days  of  yore, 

But  modern  to  the  very  core, 

Your    beams,   planks,    rafters    journeyed    here 

From  ancient  forests  I  revere ; 

And  as  I  walk  from  door  to  door 

I  love  you,  ancient  Rosedale  Floor. 


THE  LADY  BARBARA 

THE  ship  sailed  out  upon  the  sea, 

She  spread  her  sails  to  breezes  free, 
Her  flag  swung  from  the  tall  mast-tree — 
She  was  a  lordly  craft 

She  sailed  into  the  shining  west, 
Each  wave   tossed  high  its  snowy  crest; 
Of  all  good  ships  she  was  the  best — 
The  Lady  Barbara. 

She  sailed  into  the  west's  wide  path 
The  Storm  King  met  her  in  his  wrath, 
The  wild  waves  cut  a  cruel  swath, 
And  swept  her  to  her  doom. 

Oh,  then  the  sea  made  prey  of  her, 
The  angry  sea  held  sway  of  her, 
Nor  was  there  one  delay  of  her, 
To  feed  the  sea's  revenge. 

He  cut  her  decks  with  stinging  lash, 
Nor  could  the  day  his  wrath  abash, 
Till  through  the  hull  sea-fiends  could  dash, 
Nor  was  he  satisfied. 

He  tossed  the  sails  upon  the  main, 
He  laughed  to  see  the  deck's  red  stain, 
To  hear  the  shrieks  that  were  in  vain, 
While  sailors  sank  to  death. 


88 


Then  winds  were  calm  and  waves  were  spent, 
The  sea  like  infant  innocent 
Spread  in  the  sun  his  sapphire  tent. 
The  ship — oh,  where  was   she! 

In  fathoms  of  the  deep  below, 
Sunk  in  the  caves  that  mermaids  know, 
She  lies  where  wild  winds  never  blow — 
The  Lady  Barbara. 


LORD  ROSLYN 

BESIDE  the  pillar  Roslyn  stood 

And  gazed  into  the  gloom 
Where  all  the  Lords  of  Roslyn  lay 
In  death's  cold  silence  laid  away 

Within  their  stately  tomb. 

The  Lords  of  Roslyn  in  that  vault 

Uncoffined  lie  in  state; 
Their  armor  hides  the  form  of  clay 
Slow  moldering  to  dust  away, 

While  they  for   Roslyns  wait. 

When   Roslyns   die  the   doors   swing   wide; 

Room,  there  is  ever  room. 
From  the  recesses   dark  and   damp 
Winds  rush  to  dim  the  day-star's  lamp 

And  petrify  the  gloom. 

Lord  Roslyn's  father  there  was  laid, 

Another  armored  one. 

"Close,    close   the    doors,"    Lord   Roslyn    said, 
"Remember,  all,  when  I  am,  dead 

To  lay  me  in  the  sun." 

The  years  went  on  till  Roslyn  died, 

And  then  his  will  was  done. 
The  ghastly  tomb  was  undisturbed; 
With  breath  of  flower  and  song  of  bird 

They  laid  him  in   the   sun. 


SHAKESPEARE 
1564— April  23—1616 

SPRING  made  a  poet's  cradle 

Of  willows,  from  a  stream 
Whose  curves  she  loved  to  follow 

In  following  her  dream. 
She  wove  that  precious  cradle 

Of  colors  April  brought; 
With  blue  from  skies  of  azure, 

With  white  of  clouds  she  wrought ; 
Embroidered  fleecy  borders 

With  tender  forest  green, 
And  fringed  the  snowy  blankets 

With  rainbow  knots  between. 
And  then,  since  joy  is  gladder 

Because  it  once  knew  pain, 
She  braided  in  the  sunshine 

With  drops  of  silver  rain. 

From  crevices  in  mountains 

She  took  the  brown  and  gray, 
For  lights  are  all  the  lovelier 

That  with  the  shadows  play. 
Gay  sunbeams  were  her  shuttles, 

Their  silver  light  flashed  through 
The  shining  rainbow  colors — 

The  lovely  white  and  blue. 
So,  from  earth-fields   and  sky-fields, 

With  shuttles  gay  and  wild, 
She  wove  a  fairy  cradle 

To  hold  her  poet-child. 


At  last,  with  work  completed 

And  heart  still  light  and  gay, 
She  sang  her  song  to  cities 

Along  the  world's  highway: 
"Here  in  this  bed,"  she  murmured, 

"A  wonder-child  shall  rest; 
His   gift   a  prophet's  vision, 

The  pearl  of  truth  his  quest. 
The  world  shall  bless  his  coming 

And  hail  him  poet-seer, — 
Shall  smile  beside  his  cradle 

And  weep  beside  his  bier." 

Then  breathlessly  she  waited 

And  held  her  April  near, 
Because  with  joy  abated 

She  saw  her  poet's  bier. 
Behind  the  mystic  shadow 

That  wraps  the  thunder-cloud, 
She  knelt  within   the  darkness 

To  weave  her  poet's  shroud. 
The  shuttles  moved  so  slowly 

Among  the  strands  of  pain, 
She  scarcely  heard  the  message 

That  came  in  low  refrain: 
"Your  poet  lives  forever 

And  time  can  never  dim 
The  lustre  of  his  glory; 

The  world  will  honor  him." 

Spring  heard  and  left  the  shadow, 
Sunshine  about  her  played ; 

She  looked  across  the  ages 
And  was  no  more  afraid. 


92 


"My  Poet — not  mine  only — 

No  selfish  thought  I  bring; 
You  are  the  world's  joy-giver, 

The  world  will  crown  you  king. 
Yet,  since  from  heights  of  vision 

Life's  lowest  depths  appear, 
I'll  weep  beside  your  cradle 

And  smile  beside  your  bier." 

The  ages  claim  their  forfeit, 

All  nations  pay  the  cost; 
In  depths  of  dark  oblivion 

Peasant  and  king  are  lost. 
But  Spring  clings  to  the  memories 

That  April  always  brings; 
The  eager  world  still  listens, 

And  still  her  Poet  sings. 


93 


SHAKESPEARE'S  APRIL 

O  WONDROUS  month  of  April  when  England  is  aglow, 

Remembering  her  poet  born  in  April   long  ago ! 

O    wondrous    month    of    April    when    England's    all 

abloom, 
Yet  weeps  because  her  poet  lies  in  an  April  tomb ! 


94 


LINCOLN'S  WISH 

"DiE  when  I  may,  let  it  be  said 
By  friends  who  know  me  best, 
He  plucked  a  thistle  from  its  bed 
And  set  a  flower  in  its  stead, 
Where'er  a  flower  could  rest." 

Lincoln !  that    wish  was  granted  thee  ! 

Thy  hand  by  God  was  led 
To  pluck  the  thistle,  Slavery, 
And  plant  the  flower,  Liberty, 

To   bloom  when   thou  wert   dead. 


95 


GUARDED 

SOUL,  never  count  thyself  bereft 
While  sun  and  stars  to  thee  are  left; 
God's  love  enwraps  thee  o'er  and  o'er, 
Gives  more  whene'er  thou  askest  more. 
Life,  calm  and  strong  and  sweet  shall  be 
When  in  each  least  detail  we  see 
The  Infinite,  that  everywhere 
The  Finite  guards   with  tender  care. 


"SAVOIR  TOUT  CEST  PARDONNER  TOUT" 

A  TENDER  proverb  often  heard  in  France, 

Woven  in  allegory  and  romance. 

Who  can  know  all? — the  depths  of  others'  woe, 

The  heights  of  joy  where  wilder  natures  go? 

Those  who  resist  temptation   know  not  all 

Its  power.    Only  those  know  who  struggling  fall. 

No  one  can  understand  a  human  soul 

Except  his  own ;   nor  that  can  he  control. 

Is  it,   dear   Christ,  because  Thou  knowest   all, 
That  Thou  dost  mark  the  weakest  sparrow's  fall? 
That  Thou  dost  share  each  soul's  Gethsemane, — 
Dost  see  the  vision  of  what  each  might  be? 
For  here  today  even  as  in  days  of  yore, 
Forgiving  Thou  dost  whisper:     Sin  no  mor«. 


97 


CRINAN  CANAL 

A  NARROW  stream  in  graceful  curves 
Winds  in  and  out  and  gently  swerves 
Through  fertile  fields  where  yesterday 
The  mowers  cut  the  fragrant  hay; 
Its  breath  is  wafted  on  the  breeze 
To  rival  odors  of  the  trees; 
For  here,  with  spice  of  nature's  wine, 
Stand  dusky  forests  of  the  pine 
Lapped  by  a  quiet  lake  where  lie 
Reflected,   clouds   that  fill   the   sky. 
On  through  the  meadows  and  by  hills 
Where  leap  and  foam  the  sparkling  rills, 
Escaping   from   the   mountain's    crest 
To  seek  the  river's  quiet  breast. 
Our  boat,  still  winding,   gently  comes 
Close   to  the  doors   of   cottage   homes, 
And  children  dance  and  smile  though  mute, 
While  peasants  play  the  slender  flute. 
So  on  and  on  till  sets  the  sun 
And  then  our  journey  too  is  done. 


WINDERMERE 

WHEN  first  I  saw  you,  Windermere, 

I  thought  your  lake  and  tranquil  sky 
From  all  life's  sin  and  doubt  and  fear 
My   soul   might  purify. 

Your  blue  hills  touched  the  fair  blue  sky; 

They  called  and  gently  beckoned  me ; 
"  'Tis   heaven's  gate,   do  not  pass  by, 

A  welcome  waits    for   thee." 

The  holy  spot  I  climbed  to  seek, 

In  ether  washed,  by  pine-breath  shriven; 

Yet  standing  on  your  highest  peak 
I  still  am  far  from  heaven. 


99 


THE  ROOFS  OF  ANTWERP 

THE    Antwerp    roofs    are    fluted    in    a    strange    and 

wondrous    way, 
As   they   rise   outside   my  window   in   their   ranks   of 

red   and    gray ; 
Their  gray  steps  mount  the  gables  till  they  meet  the 

chimney  wall 
Wherein  the  flues  rise  higher  yet — serrated,  dark,  and 

tall. 
Beneath    the    eaves    are    hollows    within    the    stucco 

white, 
Where  the  birds  nest  and  sing  by  day  and  hide  away 

by   night. 
And  there,    above  the    angles  that   the   Gothic   artists 

love, 

I  see  the  great  cathedral  against  the  sky  above. 
Its  splendid  tower  is  sculptured  with  a  poet's  dream 

in   stone 

That  rises,  rises,  rises— into  the  blue — alone. 
Gray  flocks   of  birds  sweep  round  it  amid  shafts  of 

matchless  grace, 

And  the  great  clock  guards  the   minutes  on  its  shin 
ing  golden  face. 
Yet  over  all  that's  ancient, — all  the  roofs  and  stacks 

and  spires, — 

The  modern  sets  a  symbol  in  its  tense  electric  wires; 
They    stretch    above    the    gables,    they    interrupt    the 

towers, 

So  slender,  so  relentless,  they  care  not  for  the  hours 
That  centuries  have  recorded  upon  the  golden  clock, 
For  with   Youth's   calm   insistence   at   Time   and  Age 

they  mock. 


100 


But  we  who  visit  Antwerp  care  little  for  the  wires 
Since  over  them  in  triumph  rise  the  towers  and  lofty 

spires ; 
And   since   below  them   cluster   the    roofs   that   Time 

has  decked 

Till  tiles  of  ancient  beauty  are  gold  and  crimson  flecked. 
O  Antwerp,  keep  your  Rubens  and  Van  Dyck,  with  all 

their  art, 
But  let   me   have    your   fluted    roofs   to    carry    in   my 

heart. 


101 


ECHO  MOUNTAIN 

SWEET  fields  are  decked  in  living  green — 
Would'st  find  them,  dear?     They  lie 

Where  Pasadena  nestles  'neath 
The  blue  arch  of  the  sky. 

And   where   San   Gabriel's  vineyards    lift 

The  fruitage  of  their  vines, 
And  offer  purple  challenge  to 

The  green  of   mountain  pines. 

The  white  clouds  play  in  fields  of  sky, 

Their  shadows  come  and  go 
Where    sunshine    smiles    upon   the    slopes 

Of  happy  fields  below. 

The  giant  mountains  tower  above 

While   ranging  low  across 
The   little  hills    are   sentinels 

In  robes  of  velvet  moss. 

The  condor   rests  his   eager   wings 
On  soft  winds  sweeping  high; 

The  mountains  drape  their  misty  veils 
Athwart  the  deep  blue  sky. 

Sweet  fields   are  decked  in  living  green — 

It  was   a  prophet's   word 
Fulfilled  where  Echo  Mountain  shows 

This  vision  of   the  Lord. 


102 


SAINT  CLOUD 

O   LOVELY  waters,   pouring  down 
To  stairway's  foot  from  stairway's  crown, 
Coming  from  mouths  of  creatures  mild, 
Coming  from  mouths  of  dragons  wild, 
From  urns,  from  spouts  on  every  side, 
Over  the   stairways    deep  and   wide! 

At  first  all  slowly  rippling  o'er 
The  stony  sides  and  stony  floor, 
Then  sparkling,  flying,  hurrying  past, 
Lest  some  small  eddy  should  be  last. 
In  sheets,  in  clouds,  in  veils  of  mist, — 
Here  in  the   shade  and  there  sun-kissed,- 

0  hurrying,  rippling,   singing  throng, 
To  Naiad  queen  do  ye  belong? 

Or  is  it  Undine  that  ye  hide 

In  your  white  veils — a  mystic  bride? 

1  ask,  but  ye  do  not  reply, 
O  lovely  waters,  hurrying  by! 


103 


CORONADO 

THE  silver  sea,  the  silver  sea, 

It  ripples  in  the  sun, 
And  far  away,  across  the  bay, 

The  sea  and  sky  are  one. 

The   crescent  beach   rounds   out   to    reach 
Point   Loma's    snow-white  tower, 

Where  through  the  night  a  crimson  light 
Is  flashed  with  warning  power. 

Afar  and  near,   from  point  to  pier, 

The  crescent  curving  o'er. 
In   stars  aflame  doth  write   its  name 

On   Coronado's  shore. 

The  silver  sea,   the   silver    sea, 

Today  although  we  part, 
The  blue    skies  o'er  this   crescent   shore 

I  keep   within  my  heart. 


104 


GIVE  THE  BEST 

TRUE  art  belongs  alike  to   small  and  great, 
It  knows  not  bonds  of  empire  or  of  state, 
Finding  a  place   beneath  cathedral   dome, 
Or  lingering  in  the  quiet  walls  of  home; 
Though    stately   palaces    may    not    affright, 
It  seeks  a  lowly  cottage  with  delight. 

Then  why  shut  out  from  universal  place 

The  heavenly  light  that  shines  from  true   art's   face? 

Why  offer  subterfuge  and   mask  and  sham? 

Why  say :  "You  are  not  connoisseur — I  am"  ? 

A  noble  art  cannot  thus  be  deceived. 

Ourselves    and   others   surely  are  bereaved 

When  offering  what  the  people's  choice  we  name, 

With  commonplace  we  quench  a  holy  flame. 

No,  when  the  call  is  sounded  loud  for  bread 
Think  not  unscathed  to  offer  stones  instead. 
Art  for  the  whole  wide  world  is  God's  bequest; 
Then  for  the  people's  service  give  the  best. 


105 


THE  NEW  YEAR 


THE  Old  Year  groans  in  travail   pains, 
Death's  touch  her  snowy  pillow  stains ; 
Above  her  bend  the  barren  trees, 
About  her   sweeps   the   icy   breeze. 
Old  Year,  with  all  your  sin  and  pain 
Why  not  die  childless?  Life  is  vain! 
The  Old  Year   turns,  "Beware,  beware ! 
Your  blind  eyes  only  see  despair, 
Yet  joy  and  gain  and  hope  are  there." 


Old  Year,   Old  Year,  your   strength   is  spent, 
Die  childless,  and  be  well  content 
That  no  new  year  in  pride  of  youth 
Bids  falsehood  fall  by  sword  of  truth ! 
Die,    for  the   world    were   better   so, 
Since  fools  but  come  that  fools  may  go  1 
"I  bear  a  son.     Though  I  be  dead, 
His  conquering  army  shall  be  fed 
By  marshalled  days  and  hours,"  she  said. 


"He  shall  have  gain  where  I  had  loss; 
He  shall  wear  crown  where  I  bore  cross; 
His  eyes  with  victory  shall  flash 
Though  slavery  faded  mine  to  ash. 
Time   shall   his    noble   hosts    recruit, 
His  palms,  of  my  defeat  be  fruit. 

My  son  shall   reign.     His    signet  ring 
The  loyal   from  afar  shall  bring. 
Though  I  be  slave,  he  shall  be  king." 


106 


The  child  scarce  hears  her  dying  sigh; 
He  wakens  with  a  moan  and  cry. 
Is  this  the  boy  that   shall  be  king — 
This    pallid,    weak,    and    shivering   thing? 
Is  he  to  rule  the  months  and  days 
Who  cannot   speak  or    scepter   raise? 
Yes,  for  his  bed  is  emblem  fair 
Of    Peace,   whose  banner   in   the   air 
Gives  Hope's  white  signal  to  Despair. 


He    shall    disperse   the   hosts   of   greed, 
Shall  show  enough  for  all  men's  need, 
Shall  prove  to  Earth's  remotest  end 
Each  man  is  neighbor,  each  is  friend. 
Pledge,  Men  and  Brothers,  give  the  seal 
That  joins  your  hands  for  common  weal! 
Old  Year,   lie  quiet  on  the  snow. 
The  New  Year  doth  your  thought  outgrow. 
His  scepter  needs  no  scourge  of   rod, 
Love  waves  his  sign  from  cloud  to  clod, 
And  Love  makes  men  the  Sons  of  God. 


107 


EASTER 


LOOK  up,  Beloved,  where  the  hills  are  singing 
Their  farewell  to  cold  Winter's  ice  and  snow. 

See  where  the  green-clad  forest  trees  are  swinging 
Their    fragrant  censers    slowly  to   and    fro, — 
For  Spring  is  born. 

So  let  thy  heart,  with  the  dear  earth  rejoicing, 
To  darkness   and  to   sorrow,  bid   farewell; 

Sing  with  the  hills,  Spring's  resurrection  voicing, 
And  let  thy  song  Hope,  Joy,  and  Love,  foretell 
On  Easter  morn. 

II 

THE  Winter's  ice  and  snow  are  gone, 
Flowers  bloom,  soft  breezes  blow; 

The  waking  earth  laughs   in  the   sun 
And  all  the  world's   aglow. 

Tent  not  thy  soul  on  Sorrow's  field, 

Her  hosts  are  all  forlorn; 
To  Love  and  Hope  the  victory  yield 

At  break  of  Easter  morn. 

Ill 

THE  glad  earth  wakes  in  beauty 
To  keep  her  tryst  with  Spring; 

Soul,  fail  not  in  thy  duty 
Joy's  offering  to  bring 
On  Easter  day. 

108 


IV 

GONE  are  the  Winter's  ice  and  snow, 
The  south  wind  bids  the  bluebird  sing; 

Sap  in  the  willow  is  aflow, 
The  world  stands  at  the  gate  of  Spring. 

Soul,  art  thou  Winter-bound  by  grief? 

Enter  the  garden  of  the  Spring! 
Earth's    resurrection    brings    relief, 

Joy  be  thine  Easter  offering. 


109 


EASTER  LILY 

O  GOLDEN-HEARTED  virgin, 

Madonna  of  the  flowers, 
Wherever  thou  dost  bourgeon 
Thy  purity  is   ours. 

Thou  shinest  on   the  altar 
Beneath  cathedral  dome; 
Thy  message  doth  not  falter 

Upon   the  shrine   of  home. 
( 

Oh,   teach   us   all   the  duty 
That  lifts  us  o'er  the  clod, 

In  truth  and  love  and  beauty 
To  live  and  bloom  for  God, 

His  holy  name  confessing 
To  work  where'er  we  may, 

And  thus  to  bring  His  blessing, 
Eternal   Easter  Day. 


no 


THANKSGIVING  SONG 

O  GOD,  for  all  this  fruitful  year  hath  brought 
For  every  day  with  countless  blessings  fraught, 
For  mines  of  earth,  for  all  earth's  fertile  fields, 
Golden  with  plenty  that  the  harvest  yields, 
We  thank  Thee. 

For  all  the  blessings  that  the  past  hath  given, 
For   all  the   signs  to  show  that  we  have   striven 
To  walk  with  Thee  through  all  the  passing  years, 
For  joy  and  sorrow,  for  our  smiles   and  tears, 
We  thank  Thee. 

For  all  the  strength   from  holy  sources  drawn, 
For  all  the  joy  in  ties  of  kindred  born, 
For  all  the  friends  whose  love  is  tried  and  true, 
For  love  itself,  sweet  love — the  old,  the  new — 
We  thank  Thee. 


THANKSGIVING  DAY 

LORD,  Thou  alone  who  searchest  hearts  canst  know 

How   my   heart    longs 
Silence  to  break  and  gratitude  to  show 

With    loving   songs. 

I  walked  as  blind,  my  face  to  earth  cast  down. 

Thou  saidst:   "Arise! 
The  glorious  firmament  is  all  thine  own. 

Claim   thou   the    skies !" 

Thy  brooding  care  sweet  gifts  betowed  on  me, 

Love,    home,    and    friends. 
Ah,  well  may  I,  dear  Lord,  give  thanks  to  Thee 

Until  life  ends. 

Not   on  one  day  alone  shall  praises   sound 

Along  my  way; 
Each    sun-spanned    arch   of   all   the   year   is    crowned 

Thanksgiving  Day. 


112 


LOVE'S   EVERGREEN 

WHAT  is  the  Christmas  gift  that  I  shall  send, 

Beloved  friend,  enshrined  within  my  heart? 
Shall    silks   and  pearls  in  its   embroidery  blend, 

Shall   it   show  wonders  of  the  goldsmith's   art? 
Or  shall  I  look  across  the  fair  blue  lake 

And  in  its  waves  read  tales  so  old,  so  new, 
That    with    its   thought    the  heart's   quick    thrill    doth 
make 

The  day  more  beautiful,  the  lake  more  blue? 

Ah,  love  is  written  here  and  everywhere, 

Until  it  seems  that  all  the  world  must  read 
The  story  that  the  birds  and  wild  bees  share 

And  sing  within  the  trees  and  on  the  mead. 
Day  pencils  it  on  clouds  in  dazzling  white, 

Night  letters  in  her  golden  stars  its  name, 
And  never  chime  of  bells  the  ear  doth  smite 

But  still  that  song  of  songs  rings  out  the  same. 

Dear  friend,  this  is  my  gift  for  Christmastide — 

The  gift  of  love  to  lock  within  your  heart, 
The  gift  of  love  to  scatter  far  and  wide 

Till  it  becomes  of  every  day  a  part. 
So  may  God's  blessing  be  on  holly  wreath 

And  in  its  red  of  clustering  berries   shine, 
Until  on  skies  above  and  earth  beneath 

Sweet  joy  and  hope  are  set  in  light  divine. 

Take  then  this  gift  unseen  and  yet  most  dear, 
The  Christmas  evergreen  for  all  love's  year. 


POSSESSION 

MAN  need  not  seek  for  joy  or  sweet  content; 
To  find  those  treasures  he  was  never  meant. 
He  carries  them  secure  within  his  heart, 
And  none  can  steal  them,  since  he  cannot  part 
With  their  dear  presence — save  when  he  shall  say 
"I  give  ye  up,  and  walk  in  darkened  way." 


114 


PRAYER 

FATHER,  I  long  to  hear  Thy  word, 

And  listening,  bow. 
I  care  not  that  my  voice  be  heard, 

But  oh,  speak  Thou ! 
Let  me  espouse  my  comrade's  cause 

Till  it  be  won; 
Not   coveting  the  world's  applause, 

But  Thy  "Well  done  !" 
And  working,  may  I  ever  sing 

A  song  of  cheer; 
And  loving,   may  I  ever  bring 

Thy  love  more  near. 
So,  losing  sight  of  fear  and  strife, 

Let  me  be  now 
Thy   loving   Child,    and   through   my   life, 

Dear  Lord,  speak  Thou! 


HYMNS 


LORD,  far  beyond  desert  of  mine 
The  love  that  on  my  life  doth  shine, 
That  shelters  me  in  darkest  night, 
And  blesses  every  morning  light. 

The    changing    seasons    round    the   years, 
Joy   brings    her    smiles    and    grief    her    tears ; 
But  whether  smiles  or  tears  prevail, 
Thy  boundless   love   doth  never   fail. 

Oh,  keep  my  spirit  undefiled ! 
Help  me  to  be  Thy  trusting  child! 
And  on  this  loving  heart  of  mine, 
Lord,  let  Thy  love  forever  shine ! 

II 

O  HEART  of  love,  thou  broodest  o'er 

This  little  world  of  ours, 
Revealed  in  sky,  in   sea,   in   shore, 

In  forests,  streams  and  flowers; 

Yet,  O  thou  heart  of  love  divine! 

Until  thy    face  I   see 
Reflected  in  this  heart  of  mine, 

I   live  apart   from   thee. 

When  I  love  those  who  need  love's  grace, 

Not  those  who  love  deserve, 
Content  to  take  a   lowly  place 

And  joyfully  to   serve, 


116 


Then   will   love's   tide   unfailing   flow 
From  out  this  heart  of  mine; 

And  every  hour  thy  grace  will  show, 
O  heart  of  love  divine! 


Ill 

LORD  we  rejoice  that  thou  dost  bend 
From   heaven   above   to   be  our   friend ! 
Thou  draw'st  the  curtain  of   the   night, 
And  day  gives   earth   for   our    delight. 

For  us  the  mountains  lift  their  heads, 
Swift  rivers  flow  o'er  rocky  beds 
And  torrents  leap  from  fields  of    snow 
To  laugh  in  valleys  green  below. 

Yet,  Lord,  beyond  all  other  gifts, 
The  thought  that  every  burden  lifts, 
Is  that  Thou  dost  with  dear  love  bend 
From  heaven  above   to   be   our   friend. 


117 


CHURCH  BELLS 

WHEN   long   ago   the    church   bells   rang 

One  song  to  me  they  ever  sang: 

"Peace,  peace   on  earth — to  men   good  will !" 

It   rang  o'er   city,   valley,  hill — 

"God  is  above  and   all   is  well !" 

It  rang  in  carols  and  in  knell. 

Today  I   hear  the  church  bells  ring; 

But  ah,  far  other  words  they  sing. 

How  dare  ye  come  in  velvet  here 

To  worship  God  and  call  him  dear, 

When  close  beside  your  very  door 

Are  set  the  hovels  of  the  poor! 

You  feast — they  starve;   you   smile — they  weep; 

You  dream  the  while  they  cannot  sleep. 

The  God  of   Sabaoth  doth   heed 

The  cry  that  tells   His  children's  need. 

"I  cannot  hear  your  voice,"  He  says, 

"For  wails  of   anguish  drown  your  praise; 

I  cannot  see  knees  bent  in-  pra}rer, 

For  clouds  of  suffering  fill  the  air. 

I  called  to  you,  sick,  hungry,  faint, 

You   listened   not  to  my  complaint 

'When  saw  we  thee,'  your  voices  plead, 

"An  hungered,  Lord,  and  did  not  feed?" 

"Go !"  saith  the  heavenly  voice,  "for  ye 

In   slighting  these  have  slighted   me. 

For  inasmuch  as  ye  have  left 

The  least  of  mine  of  joy  bereft, 

Ye  so  have  shut  your  Lord  away 

And  to  hell's  night  turned  heaven's  day." 

The  church  bells  ring  and  ring:     Depart, 

I  know  ye  not,  ye  hard  of  heart ! 


118 


TO   CORREGGIO'S  MADONNA 
In  the  Uffizi 

MADONNA,  warm  with  adoration  bending ! 
Mother,   with   love   thine  ardent  hands  extending 

Above  fair  Jesus  on  his  bed  of  hay! 
Not  dearer  could  He  be  in  cradle  molded 
By  sculptor's  art,  or  in  rare  purple  folded ; 

The   world's  tomorrow — He  is  thine  today. 

The   darling !      Other   mothers  see   him   lying 
Like  their  own  babies— smiling,  sometimes   sighing, 

Or   dreaming   of   the   mystic  long   ago. 
"He's  like  my  Guido,"  says  fair  Lucia  lightly. 
Thou  dost  not  answer,  but  withdrawing  slightly 

Ponderest  the  visions  that  they  cannot  know. 

The  sunbeams  flicker,  and  their  shafts  are  setting 
A  halo  o'er  His  head;  but  in  its  netting 

Thy  startled  eyes  behold  the  martyr  crown. 
To  pierce  thy  heart  its  thorns  are  not  forbidden, 
Nor  can  the  symbol  from  thy  love  be  hidden; 

The    secret   weighs   thine   exultation  down. 

But  look!     The  wondrous  child  at  thee  is   smiling, 
From  eyes  and  heart  the  deadly  pain  beguiling; 

Forgotten  now  all   sorrow  life  hath  given. 
See  in  the  clouds  the  holy  censers  swinging! 
Hark  to  the   song  celestial   choirs   are   singing! 

Thy  darling  child  is  Lord  of  Earth  and  Heaven! 


119 


NINETIETH  PSALM 

LORD,  Thou  hast  been  our  dwelling-place 

Through   generations   past; 
Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth, 

While  earth  was  chaos  vast, 
Thou  art  from  everlasting  known 
To  everlasting — God  alone. 

A  thousand  years  within  Thy  sight 

Are  but  as  yesterday 
When  it  is  past;  or  like  a  watch 

That  measureth  night  away. 
As  with  a  flood  Thou  carriest  them, 
They  are  as  sleep  that  falls  on  men. 

Like  grass  are  they,  that  flourishing 

In  morning  hours  is  found; 
At  eventide  it  is  cut  down 

And   withereth   on   the  ground. 
Thine  anger  doth  our  souls  consume, 
Thy  wrath  doth  fill  our  hearts  with  gloom. 

Our   days   are   three-score   years   and   ten; 

Like  oft-told  tale  those  years. 
Though  strength  should   four-score   number  them, 

They  are  but  work  and  tears; 
For  life  is  soon  cut  off,  and  then 
We  fly,  and  know  not  where  or  when. 

So   teach  us,  Lord,   to  count  our   days 

That  we  find  wisdom's  heart. 
Return!  with  mercy  satisfy! 

Let  gladness  be  our  part. 
According  to  our  time  of  fears, 
May  we  rejoice  through  all  our  years. 


120 


Unto  Thy  servants'  eyes,  dear  Lord, 

Let  all  Thy  work  appear; 
Thy  glory  to   their   children   show, 

That  love  may  conquer  fear. 
Our  handiwork  do  Thou  make  strong, 
And  let  Thy  beauty  be  our  song. 


121 


TRUE  RELIGION 

GOD  is  good  and  He  demands 
Only  goodness  at  our  hands, 
Nor  a  substitute  will  bless 
For   His    children's   righteousness. 
Would  we  character  attain 
We  must  first  desire  its  gain, 
And  we  gladly  must  receive 
Help  from  God,  in  Him  believe. 
Church's   service  ought  to  be 
Not   a  duty  whence  we  flee, 
But  the  opening  of  the  soul 
Unto  God's  divine  control. 
Ritual  is  vain  unless 
It  promoteth  righteousness. 
We  serve  God,  and  only  then, 
When  we  serve  our  fellow  men. 
To  love  mercy,  justice    do, 
To  walk  humbly,  ever  true — 
This   keeps   bright    the  altar   fires, 
This — this  only — God  requires. 


122 


SONG  OF  LABOR 

COME  sing  the  song  of  labor 

And  sing  with  joyful  heart, 
For  man  to  man  is  neighbor 

Though  homes  be  far  apart. 
The  future  we  are  molding 

Prophetic   as   we   sing, 
And  fruitful  earth  is  holding 

The  gifts  that  she  will  bring. 

Not  truly  rich   the  idler, 

Nor  poor  who  shoulders  hod, 
For  poor   and  rich  are  ever 

As  one  in  sight  of  God. 
He  sees  in  every   creature 

The  angel  of  His  plan, 
And  reads  in  every  feature 

The  noble  heart  of  man. 

Come  sing  the   song  of  labor, 

For  each  must  do  his  part, 
No  use  for  gun  or  saber 

When  love  is  in  the  heart. 
Then   friendly   hands   outreaching 

Shall  own  a  brother's  worth, 
And  give  the  wisest  teaching — 

'Tis  love  that  rules  the  earth. 


123 


ACHIEVEMENT 

LET  me  not  circumscribe  my  work  as  for  myself  alone, 
The  little  me  who  dwells  within  this  body  called  my 

own! 

It  is  not  mine,  except  as  God  has  lent  it  to  be  used 
In  service  of  His  children.     Never  let  it  be  abused 
By  narrow    limitation.     I    and    mine?   What    are    we 

then 
But  part  of  that  great  universe  we  call  the  world  of 

men? 
We  think  too  much  of  self,  our  happiness,  our  pain, 

our  grief — 

As  if  the  constellations  centered  in  this  one  belief 
Of  our  importance.     Use  a  larger  vision,  and  we  see 
How  small  a  fraction  of  God's  universal  plan  are  we. 
Then  work!  It  matters  not  if  glad  or  sad  our  course 

be  run, 
So  we  have   helped   the   world's   work   on,  our   little 

part  well  done. 


124 


SONG  OF  WORK 

THE  man  who  toils  is  truly  king, 
The  king  of   work   and  play; 

His   thought   is   free    from    every   sting 
That  tells  of  idle  day. 

His  song  rings  over  hills  and  dells, 

He  holds  a  ruler's  rod; 
The  idle  man  his  birthright  sells, 

For  work  is  blest  of  God. 

When  labor  holds  its  own  true  place 

Controlling   work  and   play, 
Freedom  'twill  give  to  every  race 

And  joy  to  every  day. 

O  happy  man,  of  work  the  king, 

Look  up  and  see  unfurled 
The  flag  of  freedom!   Sing  then,  sing! 

For  labor  rules  the  world! 


125 


BROTHERHOOD 

Do  we  scorn  our  fellow  man? 

Then  we  do  not  know  him; 
We  may  call  ourselves  above, 

Yet  may  be  below  him. 

When  we  learn  his   fortitude, 
Learn  his  human  kindness, 

Only   then   we    scourge    ourselves 
For  our  wilful  blindness. 

Man  in  masses  we  may  scorn, 

Bitterly    reproving; 
When  we  meet  him  face  to  face, 

Then  begins   our   loving. 


126 


LABOR  SONG 

MAN  worked  for  self  when  earth  was  young 

And  then  he  loved  his  own. 
But  feeble  was  the  voice  that  sung 

That  dreary  monotone. 

The  hand  that  works  for  self  grows  weak, 

The  tides  of  life  run  slow ; 
Who  thrives  must  others'  welfare  seek 

And  love  for  others  show. 

Today  afar  on  prairie  lands 

The  farmer's   arm  is  strong 
Because  the  labors  of  his  hands 

To  all  the  world  belong. 

And  as  he  cuts  his  golden  wheat 

And  sees  the  swathe  laid  down, 
He  sings,  "The  world  my  bread  shall  eat 

And  love  the  gift  shall  crown." 


127 


MESSAGE  OF  THE  FLAG 
1900 

MY  COUNTRY,  your  dear  flag  was  first  conceived 
In  love,  with  throbbings  of  a  patriot  heart; 

With  prayer  that,  from  a  tyrant  yoke  relieved, 
That  flag   in  tyranny  should  have   no   part. 

Its  red  stood  for  the  love  of  liberty, 
Its  white  for  purity  of  thought  and  deed; 

Its  stars  of  hope  were  sown  to  multiply 
Their  golden  lamps  on  a   celestial   mead. 

Then,  when  that  sacred  flag  was  first  unfurled, 
The  cardinal  winds  swept  out  the   colors  new, 

And  floated  in  the  face  of  all  the  world 
The  message  of  the  red,  the  white,  the  blue. 

"Hail!  hail!  oh,  hail!"  our  patriot  fathers  cried, 
"Hail,  Freedom's  symbol !     Come,  all  ye  oppressed ! 

Your  prayer  for  succor  shall  not  be  denied, 
Come,  lay  your  burdens  on  the  New  World's  breast !" 

Ah,  then  they  gathered  from  the  lands  afar; 

Sweet  joy  flamed  up  from  ashes  of  despair, 
And  like  the  wise  men  led  by  Bethlehem's  star, 

Hope's   signal  led  them   into  Freedom's  air. 

O  blessed  land,  whose  young  arms  opened  wide, 
Whose  great  heart    ever  gave  its  welcoming  word ! 

What  can  it  mean  today  that  at  your  side 
Men  beg  for  liberty,  and  are  not  heard? 


128 


Does  not  that  cry  your  early  cry  repeat, 
Yev  pilgrims   landing  on    a  barren  coast? 

And  can  your  children  aid  in  the  defeat 
Of  brave  men,  when  your  courage  is  their  boast? 

Ah,  men  may  fight  with  many  a  reason  given — 
For  king  or  queen,  on  gold  or  conquest  set; 

But  when  they  fight  for  God  and  home,  then  Heaven 
Reloads  the  gun,  and  points  the  bayonet. 

For  life  counts  not,  if  home  is  to  be  lost; 

Through  flames  of  fire  the  martyr  hails  his  God. 
Better  to  die  a  free  man  than  at  cost 

Of   freedom   live,   a   slave,   a   serf,   a  clod. 

Better  to  die  with  God,  than  live  to  see 
His  holy  laws  transgressed,  His  love  unknown; 

Better  relinquish  life,  than  live  to  be 
An  alien,   though   upon   earth's  proudest   throne. 

My  country,  'tis  not  thou !  Thou  art  betrayed 
Most  wickedly  for  lust  of  gold  and  power. 

Rise,  patriots,  rise,  and  never  be  dismayed ! 
Strike  for  your  altars !  'Tis  th'  appointed  hour ! 

My  country,   speak,  but  not   through  lips  of  greed, 
Say  that  your  flag  still  stands  for  liberty; 

Call  to  the  helpless,  ask  not  race  or  creed ; 
But  answer  to  their  cry:   "Ye  shall  be  free!" 

Great  God  of  battles,  give  the  wrong  defeat, 
E'en  though  our  sons  upon  the  altar   die ! 

Pass,  smoke  of  cannon,  turmoil  of  retreat, 
Cease,   groans   of   death;   hush,  hush   the  mourner's 
sigh! 


129 


Give  victory  to  right,  and  let  the  few 

Confuse  the  many  who  would  make  them  slaves ! 
Thou  God  of  peace,  prove  to  the  world  anew 

'Tis  not  Thy  will  that  men  fill  soldiers'  graves ! 

My  country,   for  your  heroes  take  not  men 
From  battlefields  whose  hands  are  red  with  blood; 

Dismount  your  cannon,  sheathe  your  sword,  and  then 
Raise  high  the  flag  of  peace  on  holy  rood. 

Take  those  for  heroes,  and  their  names  enshrine, 
Who  hear  with  quickened  ear  each  cry  of  pain; 

For  whose  self-sacrifice  and  love  divine 
No  human  being  ever  cried  in  vain. 

Blow,  winds,  and  bear  upon  the  wings  of  peace 
Your  message  of  good-will  across  the  sea! 

Oh,  say,  that  war  in  every  land  must  cease! 
Float,  flag  of  freedom,  till  the  world  is  free! 


130 


AFTER    SENECA 


SHOULD  one  bestow  on  us  a  house  replete 

With    marbles,    paintings,    gildings,    broideries    fair, 

We  fain  would  offer  thanks  obsequious, 

In  obligation   for  a  gift  most  rare. 

Yet  must  it  stand  at  mercy  of  the  flood, 

Fire,  wind,  and  storm,  or  countless   accident. 

It  may  rise  fair  today,  tomorrow  lie 

Low  on  the  ground  and  eat  oblivion's  dust. 

Yet  sleep  we  sweet  'neath  heaven's  canopy, 

The  globe  of  earth  the  place  for  our  repose ; 

The  wondrous   heavens    spread   out   a   spectacle 

Whose  glories  the  wide  firmaments  disclose. 

And  shall  we  say  no  word  of  thanks  for  all 
Life  gives  beyond  our  power  to  understand? 
Whence  have  we  breath,  heat,  light  of  morn  and  eve? 
Whence    have    we    grains    and    fruits    and    jewelled 

mines? 

Whence  comes  the  blood  pulsating  in  our  veins? 
Whence  have  we  growth  and  years  and  reason's  mind? 
The  seed  of   everything  is   in  itself; 
God's  blessing  calls  it  from  the  dark  to  life— 
"The  work  of   Nature"  Epicurus  saith. 
Why  not  the  work  of  God?  Name  Him  yourself! 
Say  Jupiter,   Almighty,   Thunderer, 
Creator  and  Preserver.     Call  him  Fate, 
Or  Bacchus,  Father  of  us  all.     Or  say 
Great  Hercules  Invincible ;  perchance, 
Wise  Mercury.     Look  ye  this  way  or  that. 
Call  him  by  whatsoever  name  ye  will, 


Ye  shall  not  fail  to  find  him.     He  is  here, 
There,   everywhere.     He  worketh  day  and  night, 
He  doeth  His  own  work  and  doeth  well. 
He  giveth  freely,  and  He  looketh  not 
For  due  return. 

Aye,  I  will  call  Him  God, 

And  worshipping  give  ceaseless  thanks  to  Him. 
Call  ye  Him  what  ye  will ;  I  call  Him  God — 
God  of  the  heavens,  the  earth,  the  universe, 
And  God  of  me,  who  glory,  giving  praise 
That  He  created  me — to  call  Him  God. 


II 

THE  great  man  on  a  precipice  doth  stand; 

Prosperity  doth  hold  him  by  the  hand. 

Yet  let  him  lose  but  fraction  of  his  poise, 

He  falls  below  upon  oblivion's  sand, 

And  naught  is  heard  but  echo's  empty  noise, 

While  high,   unchanged,    the  precipice  doth  stand. 

Ill 

Too  late  comes  the  gift  that  is  won  by  the  asking, 
Too  costly  the  prize  our  petition  is   tasking; 
Naught   costs   us    so    dear   as   what's   bought   by   our 

praying, 

And   only   for  Heaven  our  prayers  we  are  saying, 
In  secret  we  choose  our  petition  to  offer, 
And  love  most  the  gift  that  the  giver  doth  proffer. 
Then  give  as  you  wish,  and  be  blest  in  receiving. 
Give  cheerfully,  quickly,  no  thought  of  retrieving; 
Denying  is  surely  next  door  to  demurring, 
And  bitter's  the  gift  that  is  slow   in  conferring. 


132 


IV 

VAIN-GLORIOUS  Alexander  boasted  oft 
That  none   in  benefits  could  him  excel. 
Then   he   met  one  who   dwelt  within   a  tub, 
And,   richer   far  than   he  who   would  compel 
Acceptance  of  a  gift,  said  ever :    "Nay, 
I   am   content.     Naught,  king,  canst  thou  bestow: 
Naught  would  I  give  to  thee,  so  go  thy  way; 
Such  wealth  as  I  possess  thou  canst  not  know." 


WHAT  we  pursue  with  much  hazard, 
Win  by  our  blood's   expense, 
Breaking  with   faith   and  with   friendship — 
These    are   but   gifts    of    the   sense. 

We  lose  the  true  use  of  riches 
When  anxious  to  gain  and  to  hold ; 
For  as  children   cry  out  for  apples, 
So  old  men  cry  out  for  gold. 

The  children  of  clay  make  their  houses, 
Old  men  build  of  marble  and  stone. 
The  works  of  the  old  show  no  progress — 
The  children's  mistakes  are  their  own. 


On  the  surface  of  earth  God  has  given 
To  man   many  gifts  that  are   good; 
But  iron,  gold,  silver  are  hidden, 
And   gained  but  with   slaughter   and  blood. 


133 


A  torment  is  money,  the  greater 
In  possession  than  in  its  pursuit. 
The  flower  may  allure  with  its  beauty, 
Yet  poison  may  lie  in  its  fruit. 

Must  the  chariot  of  Phoebus  be  golden? 
The  best  time,  the  golden  age? 
Nay !  nay !  'tis  a  vision  deceitful, 
But  it  never  deceiveth  the  sage. 

For  the  man  who  is  pushed  from  the  highway 
May  be  truly  more  happy  than  he 
Who  walketh  in  pride  of  possession, 
And  hiding  his  chains  says  "I'm  free." 


VI 


MEGARA  taken,  then  Demetrius  asked 

Of  Stilpo:  "Friend,  what  hast  thou  lost,  I  pray?" 

"Naught,"   the   philosopher   replied,    "though    I 

Have  made  my  way  through  wreck  and  fire  and  blood, 

And  know  not  where  my  wife  and  children  are, 

Or    where    my    fortune,    country,    friends,   or   home, — 

Yet   am   I    still   at   peace   though  flames    destroyed 

My  native  town — though  naked  I  escaped. 

For  I  have  saved  my  goods,"  said  he.     "Justice 

And  .courage,  prudence,  temperance ;  what  more 

Had    I   but   transitory  blessings, — wealth 

That  easily  might  fly  within  an  hour? 

I  have  saved  all  my  goods.     I  have  saved  all !" 

Thus  answered  Stilpo  to  Demetrius. 


134 


VII 

I  AM  wise,  and  love  to  dwell 
With  a  beggar  or  a  prince. 

One  shall  never  make  me  proud ; 
One  shall  never  make  me  wince. 

I  can  sleep  as  sound  and  well 

In  a  barn  as  in  a  hall ; 
I  can  lodge  on  bed  of  down 

Or  on  hay  in  manger  stall. 

Pain  and  pleasure  both  suffice; 

I  might  wish  the  game  I  play 
Easier  were  to  win,  and  yet 

I  accept  it  either  way. 

Were  I  prince  imperial 

I  might  choose  to  conquer,  but 
I    would   bear   the    selfsame    mind 

In  my  conqueror's  chariot. 

Easy  'tis  to  trample  what 
People  covet,  people  fear; 

Some  will  laugh  upon  the  wheel, 
Jest  when  fire  the  flesh  doth  sear. 

Fortune  cannot  rule  the  man 
Who  is  constant  in  his  mind ; 

He  is  wise  and  knows  no  ill, 
Sees  where  fools  are  ever  blind. 


i35 


VIII 

ALL  great  men  stand  in  noble  fortitude, 

In  honor,  and  in  courage,  side  by  side. 

Leonidas  with  his  three  hundred  men 

Would    hold    Thermopylae    'gainst    Xerxes'    force. 

"Come,   fellow  soldiers,   dine  we  here,"   said  he, 

"As  if  we  in  another  world  should  sup." 

Brave  Caeditus  before  a  battle  said: 

"We  fain  must  go,  my  soldiers  all,  but  yet 

It  is  not  needful  that  we  should  return." 

When  conqueror  at  Pharsalia,   Caesar  took 

The  cabinet  of  Pompey,  knowing  well 

It  held  the  letters  that  would  truly  tell 

Who  were  his  friends,  and  who  his  enemies; 

Yet  burnt  it  still  unopened.     And  again 

When  Alexander  knew  base  Philip's  plan 

To  poison  him,  he  held  in  his  left  hand 

The  letter  of  advice,  and  in  his  right 

The  cup  he  drained,  while  within  Philip's  hand 

He  laid  the  letter  calmly,  without  word. 

Thus  great  men  stand  in  noble  fortitude, 

In  honor,  and  in  courage,  side  by  side. 


IX 

NOBLE  examples  stir  to  noble  deeds. 

Be  wise !  withdraw  thyself  from  evil  doers. 

A  rocky  ground  will  harden  horses'  hoofs; 

Soldiers  are  made   from  hardy   mountaineers; 

Miners  make  pioneers.    All  discipline 

The  spirit  fortifies.    Those  best  instruct 

Who  use  their  lives  to  prove  their  words  are  true. 

Bad  air   endangers  health   and   worthy  men 


136 


Alay   fall   through    bad    example.     Hannibal, 

Though  conqueror   at    arms,  was   overcome 

By  pleasures   and  brought  low.     The  man  who  bears 

His   foes  within  his  breast,  hath  harder  task 

To  conquer  than  in  fight  on  battlefield. 

If  I  give  way  to  pleasure,  I  must  yield 

To  labor,  anger,  poverty  and  grief. 

Good  company  brings   better   thoughts    than   these, 

And  meeting  with  the  wise  delights  the  soul. 

I  will  take  care  with  whom  I   eat  and  drink, 

For  without  friends  a  table  is  a  stall. 

Writing  does  well,  but   conversation's   best. 

Cleanthes  had  not  drawn  so   true  to  life 

Great  Zeno,   but  by  watching  day  and   night. 

Let   me  be   careful    of   my  company; 

For  I  go  not  abroad,  and  home   return 

The    selfsame    man;    something    is    discomposed, 

Some  passion  calmed  gets  head,  or  virtue's  gained. 

Like  bodies,  minds   grow  tender   and  relapse 

When  they  encounter  airs  that  are  impure. 

Therefore  with    wisdom    choose    thy    company — 

Noble  examples  stir  to  noble  deeds. 

X 

GOD  bids  us  all  close  by  His  side  to  walk, 
Not  to   stand  facing  Him  as  if  arraigned 
Before   our   judge,    with    body   bending  low, 
But  joyful,  as  the  /children  of  a  king 
Prince-like  to  tread  at  our  dear  father's  side; 
His  wealth  of  love  and  peace  and  joy  our  own, 
Life  set  to  His  in  perfect  harmony. 
Thus  as  companions,  children,  helpers,  friends, 
Erect  and  glad  to  meet  the  world  with  Him, 
Doth  He  invite  us  by  His  side  to  walk. 


137 


XI 

KING   ARCHELAUS    bade   great    Socrates, 

"Come  to  my  palace  there  to  visit  me." 

He  answered,  "Nay,  for  I  will  never  take 

What  I  cannot  requite;  for  I  am  free." 

Let   the    world    judge   which    were    the    greater    gift, 

That  of  the  sage,  or  King  of  Macedon ! 

For  Archelaus  needed  Socrates 

Who  wore  the  laurels  that  his  wisdom  won. 

The  king  would  fain  the  sage's  secrets  know, 

Would  learn  of  life  and  death  from  his  own  lips, 

Would  win  a  friend.     What  gift  with  that  compares? 

Who  gives  his  love,  the  wealth  of  heaven  shares, 

And  friendship  that  the  sage  could  well  bestow 

Left  all  the  monarch's  riches  in  eclipse. 


138 


QUATRAINS 


WHEN  before  Thee,  Thou  righteous  Judge,  I  stand — 
My  deeds,   both  good  and  ill,   on  either  hand — 
Oh,  summon  those  who  love  me,  from  earth's  ends, 
And  then  in  mercy  judge  me  by  my  friends. 


II 


WHEN  Memory,  rich  in  treasures, 
With  her  shining  jewels  plays, 

Her  sweetest  smiles  are  for  the  gems 
Set  in  the  dear  old  days. 


Ill 

JOY   is  the   oil   within   life's   lamp, 
And  if  it  fail  the  light  grows  dim. 

Whoso  shall  lose  it  soon  will  find 
The  darkness  settling  over  him. 


IV 

WHEN    we    do    the   will    of    God, 

Little  time  have  we 
To  discuss  His  hidden  plans 

For  eternity. 


139 


THE  future  doth  no  more  affright, 
The  past  hath  left  me  free. 

Whatever  I  might  once  have  been 
Thank  God!  I  yet  may  be. 

VI 

"WRITE  the  vision,"  saith  the  Lord ; 
"Speak  the  word — it  shall  be  heard ; 
Though  the  vision  tarry, — wait, 
It  will  come — or  soon  or  late." 

VII 

WOULD   you   have    stars    for    company 
While  journeying  far  and  nigh? 

Then  as  you  walk  stir  not  the  dust, 
Lest  it  obscure  the  sky. 

VIII 

IN  every  virtue  lies  concealed 

A  latent  vice  that  might  have  ruled. 
In  every  vice  a  virtue  hides 

That  needed  only  to  be  schooled. 

IX 

I  AM  the  potter, 

Life  is  the  clay; 
Shall  clay  mold  the  potter, 

Or  potter  the  clay? 

140 


X 

Is  there  a  beam  in  thine  eye,  my  friend, 
That  once  was  a  mote  in  thy  brother's? 

'Tis  but  the  price  thou  hast  heavily  paid 
For  daring  to  be  judge  of  others. 

XI 

As  speed  the  ships  upon  the  sea 

Till   friend  clasps  hand  with  new-found  friend, 

So  speed  the  forces  all  that  tend 

To  bring  my  unknown  friend  to  me. 

XII 

THE  world  has  less  of  evil  than  of  good, 
And  he  who  trusts  all  men  will  be  deceived 

Less  often  than  will  he  who  trusts  no  man, 
And  is  thereby  of  faith  in  man  bereaved. 

XIII 

THOUGH  old  age  walk  beside  us 

And  poverty  be  near, 
With  God  for  our  companion 

We  can  have  naught  to  fear. 

XIV 

DID  you  fail?     You  will  not  be  forgotten 
Or  helplessly  thrown  to  the  floor, 

For  the  gods  always  open  a  window 
Whenever  they  close  a  door. 


141 


XV 

A  LIE  can  run  around  the  earth 

By  any  road  you  choose, 
And   reach   the   goal,   while   laggard   truth 

Is  putting  on  her  shoes. 

XVI 

THE  gods  once  gathered  for  breakfast, 
And  Ixion  came  nothing  loth, — 

But  afterwards  only  remembered 
The   design  of  the  table  cloth. 

XVII 

"A  PENNY'S  worth  of  anything  else 

Is  only  worth  a  penny; 
But   a   penny's    worth    of    ease,"   he    said 

"Is  tuppence  worth,  if  any." 

XVIII 

A  SECRET  when   it's   known    to  two 
Is  secret  nevermore,   'tis  true; 
"Yet  three  may  keep  a  secret,"  said 
Poor  Richard — "but  two  must  be  dead." 

XIX 

"I  THINK  I  know,"  said  Adam, 

"I  know  I  know,"  said  Eve. 

Now  say,  dear  sir  and  madam, 

Which  one  will  you  believe? 

142 


PROVERBS 


BE   prompt.     The   tardy  habit   grows, 

And  gets  a  sound  berating; 
For  people  always  count  the  faults 

Of  those  who  keep  them  waiting. 

French 


II 

WHEN    God   bids    thee    draw    a    load, 
Rope  He  lays  beside  the  road; 
When  He  says  that  thou  shalt  ride, 
Then  a  horse  He  doth  provide. 

Danish 


III 

WHEN  the  web  is  well  begun 

No  need  then  to  dread 
That  it  will  be  left  undone; 

God  will  send  the  thread. 

Italian 


IV 

CHOOSE  your  home  when  once  you  find 
The  best  that  life  can  bring; 

In  a  land  where  all  are  blind, 
A  one-eyed  man  is  king. 

Spanish 

143 


WOULD  you  be  fragrant?     Choose  a  place 
Where  fragrance  you  will  meet; 

For  he  who  dwells  by  one  who  sells 
Sweet  perfumes,  will  be  sweet. 

Arabian 

VI 

THERE   is    never  a   road   that  is   long, 
When  we  know  at  its  end 
Stands  the  house  of  a  friend; 

For  the  heart  as  it  goes  sings  a  song. 

Danish 

VII 

MAN  is  not  just  till  he  divines 
That  God  writes  straight  on  crooked  lines. 

Spanish 

VIII 

THE  Devil  boldly  walks  abroad 

By  night  and  day; 
But  when  he  finds  the  door  fast  shut, 

He  goes  away. 

Spanish 

IX 

Two   ears,    one    tongue — the    moral    seek : 
To  listen  twice  while  once  you  speak. 

Turkish 

144 


X 

THE  best  man's   faults  upon  his  forehead  written, 
Would  make  him  pull  hat  over  eyes — shame-smitten. 

Gaelic 


XI 


CONFIDE  a  secret  to  a  man  that's  dumb; 
'Twill   make  him   speak,   for   out  'tis   bound   to   come. 

Livonian 


XII 

THOUGH  you  give  a  pound  of  fretment, 
'Twill  not  pay  -a  gill  of  debtment. 

Jamaican 


XIII 

WHEN  two  friends  meet  with  loving  word, 
'Tis  God  Himself  doth  make  the  third. 

Italian 


XIV 

WITH  God  thou  may'st  cross  the  ocean, 

Shore  to  shore ; 
Without  Him  cross  not  the  threshold 

Of  thy  door. 

Russian 

145 


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